


safe in my garden

by duchessy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aliens, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Civil War Fix-It, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, Pining Steve Rogers, Pining Tony Stark, Post-Break Up, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Stuck in a cabin somewhere in Canada, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchessy/pseuds/duchessy
Summary: When an intergalactic threat takes the team to the middle of nowhere AKA Northern Ontario, the mission quickly takes a turn for the worse. As an estranged Steve and Tony end up stuck in a cabin, miles away from the nearest town full of mysteriously disappeared residents and reliving the same day over and over, they discover that nothing gets better before it gets ultimately worse.Or, aliens trap them in a time loop cabin somewhere in Canada.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson (background), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [always winter, always spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22105696) by [Mizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy). 



> This is just me combining all of my favourite tropes from fics that I've recently read and trying to see how well I can write them all together. Also, fair warning for the amount of angst you are all about to be slammed with (sorry, but not really). Also, there is a time loop type situation in this fic that is heavily based off another fic that I cannot recall the name of for the life of me, so if anyone recognizes it, please send me the name/author of the fic so I can give them the credit that is due!
> 
> EDIT: After literal months of searching, I've found the fic that this one was inspired by!! It's "always winter, always spring" by Mizzy. Go check it out if you haven't already!! It's one of my absolute favourites.
> 
> ALSO: There is a part where Steve uses the term "boobs" which is not meant to carry the meaning that we generally associate it with, because it's also 40s slang. And also, there is a Randy's Donuts in the fic which I mentioned to be in New York. I KNOW they only have locations in California, but it's fiction so I'm taking liberties lol.
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe out there and that you can find even a little bit of solace in my fic and the dozens of others that are being updated/created as I write this! Thanks to all you writers, artists, gif makers and editors out there for making this time more bearable for all of us :)

Tony would be lying if he said that seeing Steve didn’t sting a little bit. 

Okay, he was lying. It stung a lot. 

He didn’t recall ever having the same instant fight or flight response at seeing an ex before. Even though he’d only had one other serious relationship besides Steve, and that whole situation had been equally horrible when it had fallen apart, especially since he had essentially broken up with his boss who also happened to be his best friend. 

It was far from the first time he’d seen Steve after the whole definitely-not-fun debacle that had gone down in Siberia. 

Tony had been the one to propose a series of alterations to the Accords, ones that wouldn’t limit the actions of the Avengers as long as they answered to a team of enhanced individuals that Tony and Professor Xavier were in the process of putting together. The Avengers would be able to operate independently in the event of an emergency, but would otherwise operate under the guidance of this team of both people with the X gene and other enhanced members of the community. They'd gotten rid of the Raft, and in its place designed a specialized rehabilitation program for enhanced individuals who had caused some amount of destruction with malicious intent. Along with that, a training program to ensure that these individuals would be able to properly manipulate their abilities and reduce the amount of public chaos during a mission was also in the works. These amended Accords were the ones that Steve eventually signed in order to return back to the States and have Barnes psychologically treated at home after the cryo and Shuri's deprogramming of the Winter Soldier in Wakanda. 

Tony had understood why Steve had been so reluctant to sign. After the whole HYDRA takeover of SHIELD that had left even unflappable Nick Fury flapping and Steve’s trust in SHIELD thoroughly lacking, his extreme displeasure at having to operate under a government super council was more than reasonable. Hell, he figured that if he hadn't operated just based on his guilt alone, he also would have been reluctant to sign a set of laws that was backed by the same guy who'd sent the military after Bruce years ago. By enabling the Avengers’ independence in the event of any future compromisation of SHIELD and incorporating, Tony had worked his ass off to amend the Accords so that they could retain some autonomy while still being held accountable in a way that they definitely had not been before. 

The Avengers who had been on the run had signed, and predictably, Steve had been the last to do so. Apparently, it had been Barnes who’d convinced him to finally do it. They’d returned five months ago and Tony still hadn’t seen Steve outside of a professional context since Siberia happened. A fact that he had been more than happy with until fucking now because Steve was fucking here, at the gala. 

Tony found himself wishing he had declined the stupid, gold-fringed invite that he had placed on his coffee table and forgotten about for a month after it had gotten buried under piles of cute works of art featuring Iron Man and his small adoring fans, before Pepper had rolled her eyes at him over lunch two days ago and asked him what he was planning on wearing. Tony had found himself replying with “obviously my new checked Tom Ford Prince of Wales” before he had paused to consider where he was going donned in his new checked Tom Ford Prince of Wales. 

Upon later investigation of said gold-fringed invite buried under works of art from small people (“Pep, you don’t understand, these should seriously be put up in a gallery or something!”) was a charity benefit for the children’s hospital. Tony knew he would have felt like dog shit, and been the equivalent of actual dog shit if he had declined the invite, but he was beginning to feel a certain kinship to dog shit anyway. 

Pepper had left his side a little while ago, citing a few potential donors for SI’s own September Foundation as the reason for her departure, but Tony knew that she’d had a thing with one of them for a couple of weeks now and he didn’t want to ruin that for her by being his usual clingy self for tonight. And so he had been at the bar by himself, still nursing his first glass of champagne that he’d picked off a passing waiter earlier after stopping to say hello to the usual balding ladies and gents, steadfastly refusing any topic of conversation that included the casual mentions of how much everyone had donated to the cause, because he hated the fuckers who showed up just to boast. He had been peacefully people-watching until a certain familiar blond hunk of patriotic beef had wandered into his field of vision.

Tony knew that the Avengers were usually invited to these things, and although Tony was mostly the one elected out of the group to attend, some of the others joined him from time to time. Of course, before everything had happened, it had been him and Steve attending together. Before Steve, Tony would be flanked by a ragged group of superheroes that cleaned up surprisingly well, and before all of that, he had gone alone.

This time, he had been invited to go on behalf of SI, hence Pepper’s presence and his tag-along self because of his lovely last name that carried the money and the insurmountable legacy like a truckload of shit behind it. 

After Tony had overcome the initial _ohgodit’sSteve_ reaction to seeing Steve, he frowned to himself as an errant thought out of the hundreds firing synapses inside his brain stuck around for more than the usual millisecond. It was strange that Steve, and by the looks of it, Natasha as well, had been invited this time. They had only gotten back from Wakanda four months ago, barely cleared for missions with the newly established SHIELD at this point. They weren’t exactly popular with the particular species of human that made up the gala crowd at the moment.

Tony watched idly (he kind of overshot to panicked instead of the idle he’d been going for) as Natasha leant in close to Steve, turning her body away from the crowd to presumably tell him something before leaving his side, making her way over to the table where Pepper was sitting with the SI donors. Shit. If they’d located Pepper it wouldn’t be long before Tony himself got made. 

He wanted to turn away, turn his back to the noise and the crowd so Steve would have a harder time (not much harder) looking for him. But he found himself standing there, not really frozen but also not really moving either. He had his glass of champagne still cradled in his hand, the moistness of the condensation dripping from the glass and wetting the tips of his fingers.

Steve wasn’t even looking for him and he had found him in mere minutes. Not that Tony was counting or anything. Steve’s face went through a series of emotions Tony can’t quite place (surprise, confusion, abject sadness) and he seemed to be fighting with himself over whether he should come over. Knowing Steve as well as he did, Tony didn’t doubt for a second that Steve wouldn’t come over. 

That first letter had quickly been followed by several text messages sent to the burner phone that Tony would never admit to carrying around with him, followed by another letter which had contained yet another beat-around-the-bush, bullshit caricature of an apology. Tony was sure Steve would use this as another opportunity to clear his conscience and make sure that Tony had forgiven him and his best bud so that they can fuck off together. 

Tony didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. He still didn’t know why Steve hadn’t told him about his parents. Steve’s betrayal still stung like hell and the inevitable but brutal ripping apart of their relationship that had been a work in progress had made it that much harder to process. 

A very large, childish part of Tony wanted to run away. Hide under a table or behind Pepper’s skirt like a toddler. He was a baby, he could be excused. Another part of him that sounded suspiciously like Howard told him to cut it out. _Be a man and face the music, Stark._

Fuck that. Tony was man enough to know when he was about to shit himself with anxiety and he did _not_ want to deal with this. He whirled around to place the glass back atop the counter that had been digging into his back and shoved a fifty into the fancy tip mason jar before curtailing it out of there. 

“Tony wait--”

The sound of Steve’s voice almost made him stop for a second. Even though the idea of having the worst conversation of his life that he really didn’t want to have with the infuriating man who unfortunately still held the position as the love of Tony’s life, made him want to jump off the top of his Tower without the suit on, he still missed Steve like crazy. 

Fortunately, his legendary pride didn’t let him fold that easily. Tony weaved through the crowds with ease, fingers scrambling to pull out his phone from the pocket of his jacket to key up JARVIS so he would have an easier getaway. 

He made it outside, but his heart started beating doubly faster. Tony trotted down the front steps and impatiently craned his neck to see if the car was on its way. He peered at his phone again, tapping frustratedly at the holographic screen and waving away the concerned valet who popped up to help, immediately feeling guilty when the valet quickly apologized and faded back into the background.

Tony may have been desperate but he definitely wasn’t dumb. He knew his car wasn’t going to arrive in time to aid him in his frantic departure. So when he heard the footsteps behind him, he didn’t bother turning around. And yet, he continued to longingly search for his very late car, even as he felt Steve approach him from behind.

“You gonna keep pretending to wait for your car or do you want to hear me out for five seconds?”

Tony sighed and wished that he hadn’t put his champagne back before trying to make his escape. Alcohol would be the only thing that would make this conversation even slightly bearable. He turned around anyway, knocking his shades down from where they had been perched atop his head and silently berating his stupid car which he was definitely taking apart and donating to a city college if he ever made it out of this with his sanity and patience intact.

“Oh, so you’ve finally managed to pare your lectures down from the usual three and a half hours? Wow, Rogers, I must say I am impressed.” Tony sniffed condescendingly, eyeing Steve through his tinted shades. Miraculously, Steve’s face did not contort into that all too familiar scowl and instead went from his trademark soft-and-earnest-with-a-hint-of-exasperation look that he’d somehow always sported around Tony, to a sheepish grin.

“I’ve been practicing,” he said with that stupid crooked smile of his that Tony wanted to punch right off his stupid, lying face. “Five seconds is my newest record, believe it or not.”

“Not,” Tony curtly replied, waiting for that scowl or for him to roll his eyes. “Are you wasting my time for a reason, Rogers?”

Steve sighed, looking down at his shoes. For the first time that night, Tony was able to study the man for more than two panicked seconds. Steve had his hands shoved in his pockets, his broad as fuck shoulders hunched in over his chest in that way he did whenever he was feeling vulnerable. He was wearing a navy suit, nothing extraordinary as far as Tony can see. The weirdest part of his appearance was probably the beard. Steve looked like one of those hipster millennial dads and Tony hated that he was intrigued by the new look.

“I just want to talk, Tony.” Steve offered, his blue eyes sad enough that the part of Tony that had vowed to never let that happen constricted with guilt that he was the one putting it there. 

“Talk about what, Steve? Didn’t we already hash out your non-apology in that letter of yours?” Tony asked tiredly. This was the last thing he wanted to be doing. He had thought that avoiding Steve when he and the other Avengers who hadn’t signed the Accords had returned to the States, would work out just fine.

Seeing Steve right here right now, right in front of him, and there still being the largest emotional chasm in the world between them, hurt like nothing else. Tony missed him like hell. Their falling out had been months in the making, but neither of them had gotten any closure. Steve had up and left him there in that bunker in Siberia after nearly taking him out. Steve had lied to him for months and months. And all Tony had gotten was a half-assed non-apology for all his trouble.

“Tony, please,” Steve practically begged, his mouth downturned and eyes open and vulnerable. He was _right there._ Tony could hear him out and he really wanted to, but he wasn’t quite ready yet. 

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Tony shook his head decidedly, turning away from him with a sense of finality in the movement. “I can’t do this right now.”

The car had finally arrived and Tony stepped off the curb, leaving Steve standing there watching after him. He felt like absolute shit as he got in the car without even giving him a second glance, but it hurt too much to. The tinted glass of his window thankfully hid Steve’s dejected face from his view as he sped out of there. 

By the time Tony got back to the penthouse, he felt more resolute about his decision to walk away from Steve. Maybe this was the closure he needed. He’d finally got himself the closure he had been vying for. It hurt like a bitch, but Tony kind of felt good about doing something that wasn’t completely awful for himself. He didn’t love Steve anymore, and he could take his sweet fucking time to forgive him if he ever did. 

“J, buddy, hit the lights for me,” he called out with a grin as he walked down into his workshop. Dum-E whirred to life at his arrival, chirping happily and rolling towards him as fast as his wheels could carry him. Tony chuckled and ran a gentle hand down the familiar strut of Dum-E’s back, smiling when the bot rolled forward to headbutt his knee. 

“Hey there, pal. You missed me?” Tony asked him as he walked further into the room, machines and holo-screens coming alive as he walked past them. He unbuttoned his cuffs and pushed his sleeves down his arms, ooh-ing and mhm-ing at Dum-E’s elaborative chirps and buzzes as the bot followed closely at his heels.

“Sounds like you had quite the day,” he said, humming to himself while turning to give Dum-E a quick once-over, wincing at the creaks that Dum-E’s joints made with every errant spin. “Looks like we’re gonna have to grease you up a little today. You like the sound of that?” He laughed as Dum-E chirped excitedly and wheeled around himself in a misshapen circle. 

Tony looked up with a start when his stomach growled lowly. He’d forgotten to eat dinner at the gala amidst all the Steve drama. He pointed to U who was watching them curiously. “Wanna make me something good? Make sure it’s not bleach. Or motor oil. Even though I confiscated both from you last week. I feel like you’d find a way to poison me. Somehow.”

When U whirred indignantly, Tony grinned and put his hands up defensively. “Hey, I’m kidding! Not really though, because you have put motor oil into my smoothies on more than one occasion, bud.”

U knocked a glass over.

“I know it was an accident. I’m just messing around with you. Also, gently reminding you to not poison me. Maybe.” Tony placated, glancing up at U with a quirk in his lips before returning to oiling Dum-E’s joints. 

“You are a menace,” Tony told Dum-E, his wide grin betraying his true feelings towards the squirming bot completely. Dum-E withdrew from him as soon as he finished, rolling around Tony’s swivelly chair with absolutely no grace but with all of the excitement. 

“JARVIS, let’s pull up the latest?”

A holo-screen popped up in front of Tony, screen gradually brightening into a familiar blue as several other smaller screens came to life around him. He ran his fingers over his keypad in a gesture that looked like he was tracing a crescent moon, mind running faster than his tech and his body in a way that didn’t seem plausible but most definitely was. 

Everything else faded away until it was just him and all the thoughts in his mind that never quite managed to cease in their intensity. Even when he was doing other, not tech or strings of equations related things. He vaguely registered the sounds of his bots doing their own thing and living their life, sometimes peering over his shoulder curiously when a particularly alarming crash sounded, but most times the sound of them rolling around beeping at each other fading into comforting background noise. JARVIS would murmur his input when Tony asked and sometimes when Tony didn’t ask. It was bliss. Tony never wanted it to stop. 

When he reemerged twelve hours later, lifting his self-imposed sentence of the hermit life, Tony let himself feel that joy that thundered through his veins for just a moment longer. 

He then turned on his phone to thirty-two text messages and exactly seven phone calls, five from Pepper and two from Rhodey, wondering where his ass had gotten to and then another message to let him know that he’d gotten pizza delivered to the Tower for Tony’s post-bender meal. 

“J, unlock the side drawer, please?”

“Unlocked, sir.”

Tony hated himself just a little bit for this, but he reached over and pulled the hidden drawer despite the mild self-loathing. The burner phone sat there in all its brick-like, appalling flip-y glory, taunting him. It was a goddamn flip phone. He hadn’t seen one in fucking decades, but it was the most Steve thing Steve could have given him. He hated it and he hated himself for keeping it even after all these months. He pulled it out despite the warring voices in his head. Flipped it open.

There was one text message from the only contact saved into the phone.

_I shouldn’t have cornered you last night. I’m sorry._

__

__

Then.

_I understand that you don’t want to talk. I won’t bother you anymore._

__

__

He deleted the messages as well as the singular contact, flipping the phone shut and tossing it back into the drawer. He was about to tell JARVIS to lock it again, but he swivelled back around in his chair, reaching for the stupid phone. He shoved it into his pocket, very steadfastly not thinking about why he had done that. 

“Lock it down, J. Daddy’s heading out.”

* * *

“So are you planning on getting up?”

“No.” 

“Not even if Sam got tickets to the Mets game?”

“No.”

“What if Dodger fucking died? Like right now.”

Steve lifted his head up from the arm of the couch he had staked out as his Spot. The soft blanket he had draped over his shoulders slipped off as he sat up with a frown. 

“Don’t say that. Dodger’s fine.”

Bucky sighed, sharing a look with Sam. Steve put his head back down, closing his eyes for just a second. They had a Look now. Steve knew that SHIELD had finally agreed to let Bucky work missions, after his extensive psychological reprogramming in Wakanda courtesy of Shuri, and the stint with the BARF tech that Tony had let them use. While Steve had been on a SHIELD ordered sabbatical of sorts, the others had been running missions for the whole month after they’d been allowed back on American soil. While Steve had spent his month off mostly moping and spending time with the dog Natasha had got him “for the depression,” Bucky and Sam had been running missions together week after week. Steve wasn’t entirely convinced that they couldn’t somehow read each other's minds. For two people who could barely stand each other less than a year ago, they worked better together on the field than any other pair Steve had seen. 

Okay, so maybe he was feeling a little left out. It didn’t matter much. At least Bucky was happy and himself again. That was more than enough for Steve. 

It had been a few months since the sabbatical and Steve was back to running missions with the team on behalf of the newly reformed SHIELD. The Avengers were sprawled out all over the country now and definitely expanded past the six of them that had taken down Loki what felt like an eternity ago. For a guy who had technically been alive for almost ten decades, an eternity should not have felt like such a goddamn long time. 

Steve was not happy about having to work under SHIELD again. Half the reason behind why he’d stuck with them before they’d become aware that HYDRA had taken control was because Peggy had founded SHIELD, and Steve had believed that if she’d thought there was a cause for SHIELD’s existence, then he would continue to fight for that cause. After HYDRA’s takeover, however, Steve was even less sure of who to trust, let alone believe that the information he was receiving wasn’t only half the information that was known by officials, each with their own agenda. 

But, he had signed the amended Accords. Mostly for Bucky, because he’d known that Bucky was itching to come home, and to start working for the right side, the side that he chose, after decades of being under someone else’s control. Steve knew that the guilt still gnawed at him and would continue to do so. That the nightmares wouldn’t stop their brutal forthcomings until Bucky could finally write off his conscience. 

Steve’s first mission when he’d gotten back was with Natasha and Tony. They’d all known that Nat was only there for purposes of the babysitting variety. Steve had honestly been grateful that she was there, because the tension between himself and Tony had been more than palpable throughout. There hadn’t been any intel to secure, or any recon. It had been a simple retrieval mission. SHIELD officers had been compromised during a routine recon mission investigating a former SI weapons warehouse where there had been signs of alien tech reported, and it was their job to get them back safely and determine whether the reports had been legit. 

They’d gotten in and out smoothly, secured the tech as well as the SHIELD hostages and taken in the low-level goons who hadn’t quite managed to make the grand escape that they’d clearly been planning to. The SHIELD agents had been new recruits, two young men who had looked equally starstruck and sheepish at having the Avengers come to salvage their failed mission. All in all, it had been quick and easy, definitely not a task the Avengers had been required for. Steve had seen it for what it was. A simple mission that could have easily been taken over if Steve and Tony hadn’t been able to work past their personal issues for the sake of the job. 

Fortunately, they’d gotten through it and without any altercations that would suggest their incompetence at working as a team. Surprisingly, it went very smoothly, almost more smoothly than their missions before the Accords had happened. Steve figured that a distinct lack of friendly chatter over the comms and Tony’s constant curt, professional demeanour that was so unlike him that Steve often felt that he was working alongside a complete stranger, were the causes for their eerily efficient success. 

He had found himself desperately missing those missions where the six of them would be off doing their own thing, but amidst the harsh pants and the background sounds of battle would be an abundance of commentary thrown around between them, never failing to lift his spirits or give him that extra ounce of motivation to fling his shield at someone’s neck. But Steve would take curt and professional if it meant that he’d get to work with Tony again. 

After that, the both of them had only been on two other missions together, but Steve still saw Tony at debriefs and tactical meetings every so often. Every time he saw him, Tony always had his guard up, his back ramrod straight and eyes blank and unexpressive in a way that was so unfamiliar to Steve that he almost couldn’t recognize him. That was also fine, Steve told himself. As long as he got to see Tony at all, it was fine.

He’d tried to talk to Tony a few times after he’d returned, but to no avail. Sam had suggested that he give Tony some space, that he’ll come to Steve when he’s ready to talk. Somehow, Steve doubted that. He didn’t think Tony would forgive him for hiding the truth about his parents and Steve didn’t really blame him, because he was having trouble forgiving himself.

More nights than not he’d wake up drenched to the bone in sweat, shivering furiously as his mind provided an unhelpful replay of the shield continuing its relentless path down into Tony’s armoured chest, where the arc reactor flickered. Steve would hear the horrible sound of the arc reactor crunching into the armour as he ground the shield into it. It came down again and again and again and again until the red in Steve’s vision had cleared completely. 

He would usually spend the rest of the night hunched over the toilet afterwards, heaving every time the unwelcome image of Tony’s bloody look of horror as he flinched away from Steve viciously bringing the shield down, entered his mind. 

Steve knew he deserved it. He was merely repenting for his wrongdoings by reliving the worst moment of his entire existence. 

The only thing he didn’t regret about that fight was protecting Bucky. In the mornings, Bucky would walk into Steve’s floor, Sam usually in tow as he usually was these days. He’d take one look at Steve and know how he’d spent his night. Bucky never said anything. Steve knew that he felt an exorbitant amount of guilt because he felt responsible for the mess that Steve’s relationship with Tony had become. The therapy had certainly helped and Steve knew that Sam helped as well, even though neither of them seemed to realize it yet. Bucky was the only thing in his life he would never regret. 

“He’s not fine, you’ve ruined him,” Bucky said with a frown, pointing to where Dodger was lying parallel to Steve on the couch. “He’s depressed, Steve. You gave the dog depression.”

“He’s fine. He’s just resting,” Steve insisted, his voice muffled into the couch where he had his face smushed into the upholstery. He lifted a hand to rub at Dodger’s warm flank and heard the soft jingling of his collar as he moved his head closer to Steve. 

“Alright, that’s enough. This is making me sad, man,” Sam ripped the blanket off of Steve, leaving him cold and pouting up at him. “Oh wow, look at that. Is Captain America gonna throw a tantrum?” 

“You know what, Wilson,” Steve muttered, sitting up carefully so he didn’t dislodge Dodger, who had started to perk up at the sudden flurry of activity happening around him. 

“We brought you some pizza,” Bucky said, placing four boxes onto the kitchen counter. “Figured you hadn’t eaten in God knows how long.” 

“Funny how the tables turn. Remember when it used to be you who nagged us into eating three full meals a day?” Sam smirked, playfully checking Steve’s shoulder as he passed by. 

“I ate already.” Steve retorted weakly, knowing that they’d sniff out the lie as soon as it had left his mouth. 

“I really don’t think half a banana while crying about last night counts as a meal, man.” Sam offered, climbing onto one of the stools at the counter and watching as Dodger followed at Steve’s heels as he stood at the counter, inspecting the pizza. 

“It wasn’t a banana,” Steve replied, very pointedly ignoring the jab about the crying. “Is this pepperoni?”

“Half of it is,” Bucky managed through a large bite of his own slice of cheese pizza. Steve tore off a slice of pepperoni pizza for himself and all but shoved it into his mouth, not realizing how hungry he’d been until the pizza had been quite literally handed to him. His stomach not so silently begged him for sustenance, and he found himself not quite immune to its insistence. Also, the food momentarily distracted him from any Tony-related thoughts that may have been steadily plaguing him like a serious bout of cholera in early industrial England.

“When did you guys get back?” Steve asked through a mouthful that was bordering on too much but also was not quite enough to satisfy the neediness of his body. 

Sam grinned and rolled his eyes, flipping open the lid of one of the boxes that Bucky and Steve had already begun to demolish and ripping apart his own slice of cheese pizza. “Oh, now he asks. It was just your everyday beat up the bogeyman and get back the goods, except the bogeyman was a middle-aged John Smith whose best bud had bought his law firm from him.”

“Good times,” Bucky added with that familiar gleam in his eyes, snickering as he reached into the box for another slice. “You should’ve seen the look on his face, Stevie. Fucking entitled pile of dicks.”

“You know usually, that sentence would definitely not disgust me,” Steve replied after managing to swallow his load of meat on cheesy bread. “But this middle-aged lawyer John Smith sounds like a real swell guy.”

“Glad you agree, man. It was incredibly satisfying to take that fucker down,” Sam chuckled, moving his pizza slice to gently touch Bucky’s in an approximation of some kind of pizza toast. 

“You been moping up here all day then?” Bucky asked with a nod in Steve’s direction, his cheeks bulging with food. Ah, there it was. The topic of conversation that Steve had thought he’d managed to evade when his saviour, the pizza delivery guy, had arrived at the door bearing his distraction. Unfortunately, his two closest friends were also probably in love with each other, meaning that Steve would never not get the third degree about anything ever again. 

“I’m not moping,” he still insisted, albeit very weakly. He cast a glance towards Dodger, who was obediently sitting at his feet because he loved Steve and would never judge him about pining just a little bit. Definitely not because he was vying for a piece of pepperoni that might miraculously fly off the table. “I’ve just been thinking.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, clearly dubiously, which Steve ignored. “Oh yeah, how’s that been working out for you?”

Steve shot yet another weak glare at him, reaching down to scratch between Dodger’s perked up ears and sneak him an appreciatory pepperoni. “It’s been great. Turns out, moping at home is not nearly as fun as moping when you’re on the run from the government,” he said dryly, straightening back up for more pizza. 

Sam shared another Look with Bucky that Steve once again failed to decipher. It was frustrating to watch them do the little dance with each other and them just-- absolutely not be aware whatsoever. Although, Steve was starting to think they were just humouring him at this point. 

“Dude, even Fury’s worried about you,” Sam said, his tone betraying the weirdness of it all. To be fair, Fury being worried about Steve’s mental wellbeing was a bit of a shocker, considering the whole, “Here, Cap, so there are aliens, like actual aliens, not the punching through your stomach animatronic kind, and also gods whose vernacular is scarily Shakespeare-like, hope you can deal with that. Hope the cultural shock doesn’t give you depression, and if it does we’ll give you this useless therapy session where the psychiatrist will give you the okay even if you are the definite opposite of okay!” mere months after Steve had been found in the ice. 

“Tell him I’m doing just fine.” Steve suddenly lost his appetite and he stared down at his pizza crust a little forlornly. “I won’t shut down during a mission if that’s what he’s worried about.” 

“He thinks you’re having a hard time-- adjusting.” Bucky managed, his metal arm clenching into a fist and unclenching again next to his plate. “Thing I don’t get is the literal brainwashed ex-Hydra assassin gets the greenlight but fuckin’ Captain America doesn’t?”

“SHIELD’s not a big fan of Cap,” Sam nodded in agreement, also having abandoned his pizza in favour of alternatively shooting concerned glances at Bucky and Steve. “The whole man-hunt situation two years apart is kind of telling on its own, in my opinion.” 

Steve let out a sound that was somewhere between a self-deprecating chuckle and oh-God-please-don’t-remind-me groan. Being on the run from the government had not been one of Steve’s career goals, he’d mostly been trying to make it through the next errant coughing fit and attempting to not get evicted, but he figured that people have ended up in weirder places. 

When he was younger, he’d believed in fighting for his country, not because he believed it was good, but because he knew they could be better. He still believed in that fight, but as long as they were operating under the big guys, they weren’t gonna come out of it on the right side. 

“Technically, SHIELD was never after Steve,” Sam pointed out with a frown. “First, it was Hydra parading as SHIELD and then it was-- the U.S. government.” He finished haltingly.

“Wasn’t it like, an international thing last time?” Bucky interjected with a confused frown of his own as the two of them attempted to figure out the technicalities of the various combinations of boobs who had been in pursuit of Steve for the last four years or so. 

“True. Also, you were after him at some point.”

“Don’t I count as Hydra though?”

Sam considered this for a moment. “Yeah, but weren’t you after him separate from SHIELD Hydra?”

Steve kind of tuned them out at some point, letting them figure out the logistics of his years on the run while he turned his focus to Dodger. He fed him some more pepperoni, but immediately felt guilty because he knew that he probably shouldn’t be feeding him pepperoni. So instead, he got up and grabbed Dodger’s food, the one with probiotics that Nat had gotten for him with the face of a giant wolf on the front of the package, proclaiming that it would satisfy the inner wolf of every dog. Steve thought that was a little weird, but grandiose proclamations of animal ancestry aside, Dodger loved the stuff so he figured it wasn’t too bad. 

As soon as he brought out the bag, Dodger immediately let out an excited yip, closely following at Steve’s heels as he opened the bag and filled up Dodger’s little bowl. Steve hadn’t even taken a step back yet before Dodger lunged forward to devour his lunch. The familiar guilt began to stretch open that endless black chasm inside of him as he watched his dog eat like a man who had been starved. 

“I know I haven’t been the most swell guy to be around lately,” Steve murmured, crouching down next to Dodger, who was far too busy giving his lunch all of his attention to bother with Steve. “I’m going to try to do better, pal, I swear.” He waited a moment for Dodger to finish before spilling more food into his bowl, because he figured he could do that even though it did little to ease his guilt. 

“Steve,” Bucky called out, and that’s when Steve noticed that the room had gone silent while he had been preoccupied with moping all over Dodger, who didn’t really seem to give a shit anyway. He looked up at Bucky and Sam’s twin expressions of pity and tore his gaze away. It was like rubbing salt in his gaping, sore wound that had stuck around for months while everyone else had managed to heal somehow. He seemed to be the one who was always left behind. 

“You’re doing your best, man,” Bucky continued, and Steve knew that he was trying not to let the pity bleed into his voice, but he heard it anyway and despised that he was hearing it. “Stop blaming yourself for everything going to shit. You made the right call.”

“You had my six when you literally told the government and like, the United fuckin’ Nations to suck your dick, so you better believe I’ve got your back right now.” Bucky insisted, shooting Steve an errant grin. “We told Fury to fuck himself, by the way. One less thing you gotta worry about.”

Steve looked up at that. “You’re shitting me.” He received two very emphatic head shakes with both Bucky and Sam wearing the same expression of immense smugness. “How’d he take that?”

“Surprising absolutely no one: not particularly well,” Sam said with an amused huff. Fury could be a massive control freak when it came to world safety, enough that Steve often wondered if that was why Fury and Tony never got along. They were after the same thing, but using completely different means to achieve it. Fury thought it was the very people on this planet that would bring about its downfall, while Tony had set his sights beyond Earth completely.

“So are you gonna tell us about last night, or are we supposed to be satisfied with Nat’s very concise, literal debrief of events?” Sam asked him, the concern evident in his voice, but the curiosity was written plainly across both their faces. Steve knew that Nat must have given them more than that, but he was grateful that they were nice enough to ask him about it anyway even if they did know the outcome of the evening before.

“It just, did not go well,” Steve said vaguely, returning his attention to Dodger who had long finished his lunch and was prowling around the kitchen sniffing at their feet as if he could somehow startle them into dropping pepperoni onto the floor.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we kinda got that from the whole mopey Steve situation you’ve got going on here,” he said, gesturing to the general vicinity of Steve’s apartment. “I’m gonna assume you tried to talk to him? Did he say anything?”

“Well, he was not a huge fan of the letter I sent him,” Steve replied dryly, belatedly realizing he was still standing by Dodger’s food bowl with a bag of dog food in his hands. He didn’t make any move to put it away and take a seat despite this realization. In absence of shield, make use of fancy dog food instead.

“What, the weird non-apology letter with that burner phone I told you not to send?” Bucky asked with a dubious eyebrow raised. “Steve, the guy owns a tech conglomerate and is also a certified genius. I think the burner phone was a little unnecessary.”

Steve shrugged, clutching the bag of dog food closer to his chest defensively. “He still has it.” Bucky and Sam both turned to look at him incredulously.

“Like, he has it, as in he hasn’t taken it apart for parts slash chucked it into a dumpster yet?” Sam asked, as if he was bewildered at even the idea that Tony might have kept the phone that admittedly even Steve had thought was a bit ridiculous after he had mailed it along with his letter.

“He had it on him last night. Saw him holding it when he was waiting for his drink at the bar,.” Steve said, thinking back to the immediate shock paired with the accompanying warmth that he’d felt when he’d realized that Tony had brought the stupid burner phone with him to the charity gala.

“Y’all are fucking nuts,” Sam said, rolling his eyes and sliding off the barstool and carrying his plate over to the sink. “He carries around that damn thing? And you’re here moping? Dude, why are we here again,” he asked, directing the last question at an equally exasperated Bucky.

“Nat told me they were hopeless, but I really didn’t realize to what extent ‘till now,” Bucky replied, sharing yet another look of incredulity with Sam.

“Maybe he’s caught up in something dangerous again,” Steve suggested with a shrug. That had been his immediate thought when he had seen Tony with the phone. It had been followed with that familiar churning anxiety that usually accompanied the potential thought of Tony being in some sort of danger. “And he didn’t want to be traced by using his actual phone.” That thought had quickly been extinguished when Steve had caught Tony standing by the curb, anxiously checking his actual phone to call his car to him so he could get away from Steve.

“Steve, dude, you need to go talk to that man,” Sam said, placing a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Other than being hounded by Ross and his pruney white-assed cronies every other day, Stark is fine. He is not using that phone for its intended purpose, Steve.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me, though. Said he’s not ready, which I need to respect,” Steve argued, watching Sam rinse his plate, tuck it into the dishwasher and then turn around to do the same for Bucky’s dirty plate. They had that sort of easiness that Steve found himself envious of and then was annoyed with himself for being envious of them, even though he was also immensely happy that Bucky was finally settling into his life here with people who cared about him as much as Steve did.

“Okay, that’s fair. But you’re in over your head, Steve,” Bucky pointed out, smiling at Sam in thanks and moving the remaining boxes with the pizza still remaining inside of them into the fridge. “You gotta admit, this ain’t exactly healthy. You need to move on.”

There it was again. Moving on. Steve didn’t know why he had so much trouble with it when everyone else seemed to manage just fine. Maybe it was a good thing, that he never moved on. If he had moved on after they’d pulled him from the ice, he wouldn’t have Bucky.

“I’m trying, Buck. I really am,” he promised, wondering if one day he’d actually be able to convincingly make that promise to himself.

“I know you are, Steve,” Bucky reassured him, pulling Steve into a hug that he fell into gratefully. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s very solid, very alive presence and buried his face in his shoulder. Suddenly, he was seventeen again, his Ma in the TB ward with her ‘kerchief dotted with blood and Bucky sitting next to him at home with a steadying hand on his shoulder. The instant relief he had felt then and now was like stepping out after being saturated with the Vita Rays and being able to take his first lungful of unobstructed oxygen.

“We’re here for you man,” Sam added with a firm nod that left no argument. “All of us are.”

Their words didn’t bring about some sort of revelatory moment for Steve, where all the messed up parts of his mind suddenly rearranged themselves to bring to right everything that was wrong. They actually did little to actually reassure Steve, because the “we” felt more like a “them” where Steve was this other guy on the outside looking in. But he felt less alone. Like they weren’t going to be there just because Steve had been there for them. They were here by choice, because they wanted to. That was enough for him.

* * *

_two months later_

__

__

Tony was late.

He was also in line at Randy’s Donuts.

In his defence, Tony hadn’t exactly planned on being stuck behind Basic Brittany with her pin-straight blonde hair and dressed in Lulus that Tony had thought were strictly a soccer mom outfit staple until this very moment. She had her phone pulled out, reciting her very complicated coffee order to the poor girl behind the counter who looked like she was about five seconds away from putting in her two weeks’ notice. It seemed that Basic Brittany had veered very off course from her usual Starbucks this evening.

Unfortunately, Basic Brittany’s poor coffee establishment navigation skills meant that Tony was going to be late to the urgent Avengers meeting that was about to begin in ten minutes.

Usually, Tony wouldn’t give a shit about being late to a meeting. When the only people whose time he would be wasting were ageing, white men with gaping bank accounts who all somehow had the misfortune of contracting male pattern baldness at the ripe ages of thirty-five and had a side of Viagra with every meal, Tony couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. Also, he was definitely not the only person who would be pulling up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks in hand.

This meeting was a little different though. Fury didn’t usually call in all the Avengers on the current roster they were operating with for a mission. Since they all had their own schtick, they were usually partnered or grouped based on whether their skillset was required for any given mission. That meant Tony was mostly working with Bruce when he was needed as a consultant and when SHIELD needed Iron Man, he worked with the others in varying combinations. The recon missions were usually left to Nat and Clint with Barnes occasionally being assigned with them, and Steve as their lead.

They hadn’t all been called in to work a mission together for months. Definitely not since the Accords, and even before, Tony thought it might’ve been their little sceptre raid parties when it had just been the six of them, that they’d all been called in at the same time.

Whatever this was, if their collective dramatics was being required, it wasn’t going to be a cakewalk. Naturally, Tony’s mind had immediately glommed onto the worst-case scenario: an extraterrestrial threat, and one they weren’t prepared to be able to handle this time around. Logically, he knew that if that was the case, then at the very least, Thor probably would’ve gotten a raven or something and Tony’s own complex intergalactic monitoring system would have caught on to it if the threat level was that high. Since neither of those things had happened, it was unlikely that he’d have to keep an eye on the sky for a potential spaceship landing in Times Square.

His anxiety brain didn’t quite receive the memo. He impatiently stood in line behind Basic Brittany, who had somehow returned with her coffee and was currently complaining about how she’d asked for her drink to be shaken with ice but no ice in the drink but there seemed to be ice in the drink, while the poor barista explained to her with that dead smile that was universal to all retail service workers who had to deal with characters such as Basic Brittany, that there was no ice in the coffee. Tony idly tapped his toe against the linoleum floor as he mentally fought off intrusive images of flying out of an alien's asshole for the second time in less than a decade.

His phone had begun to vibrate at increasingly shorter intervals and at alarming intensity, but he was determined to leave with a donut from Randy’s Donuts, because he wasn’t here for the crappy, fake ethically sourced shit that Starbucks had to offer. Tony decided that if he showed up late with a whole box of donuts for everyone, he would probably be forgiven with minimal grovelling on his part.

He arrived at the Tower fifteen minutes later, twenty-five minutes late to the meeting. However, he had most definitely made the right call re: donuts, because as he walked into a roomful of pissed off Avengers, the sight of donuts instantly turned a good eighty percent of those frowns completely upside down. Wilson stretched out his arms as soon as Tony stepped into the room, his hand making grabby motions that Tony had only previously encountered in tiny, fat toddlers and himself at the sight of freshly brewed coffee after a bender in the workshop.

He barely spared Fury a glance as he stepped forward to place the box down at the centre of the long conference table they were all seated at. Tony quickly grabbed a couple of hot donuts for himself before the others pounced forward. Nat grabbed two before anyone else could blink, to absolutely nobody’s surprise. Barnes grabbed one for himself and Steve, while Wilson grabbed three for himself, before guiltily handing one over to Bruce who had been watching resignedly. Thor gasped delightedly and took one for himself while Clint sat staring at the now empty box with an incredulous look on his face.

“Fuckin’ heathens,” he muttered under his breath, mutinously glaring at Natasha who merely looked up at him with wide, fake guileless eyes and shoved the rest of her donut into her awaiting mouth.

“As much as that display destroyed every ounce of confidence I had in this team,” Fury started, his eye glaring at each of them individually to no effect at all. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Tony took his seat in the chair next to Natasha, who moved her foot which had been propped up on it so he could sit. His eyes made the cursory pass over everyone in the room: Wilson, Bruce, who was grinning at something Thor was muttering to him, Nat, Clint, still looking upset about the donuts, Barnes, who looked half-asleep, and finally, Steve, who had his yellow legal pad out in front of him and a pen gripped tightly in his hand. Tony knew he wasn’t actually taking notes. Or, he would try to but it wouldn’t be long before the drivel turned into a funky little doodle of Natasha with a donut for a head, or something equally ridiculous for the sole purpose of making Tony laugh.

Except, it wouldn’t be like that this time around. Steve would doodle on his own, his seat far enough away from Tony that he wouldn’t even be able to see him out of the corner of his eye. Tony was— surprisingly fine with this, he realized in a very silent “huh” moment.

“Avengers, this is a Clearance Level 8 situation, meaning some of your clearance levels have been updated for this purpose alone. Other than the people gathered in this room, there is very few personnel who have access to this information.” Fury began, as ominous as ever. Tony did notice that he looked tenser than usual, but he wasn’t sure if that was the normal amount of tense that Fury perpetually carried with him, causing his trademark hybrid bat and pirate-like appearance, or if it was the kind of tense that he should be more concerned about.

A holographic screen popped up behind him, the focal point of the image briefly obstructed by Fury as he made a second pass on his attempt to pace through the carpeted floor of the conference room. When he finally moved away, Tony was able to make out six profiles; three men and three women, all of whom looked to be SHIELD agents. Tony’s speculation was confirmed by Natasha’s quiet intake of breath that suggested she knew someone up on that screen.

“Six of SHIELD’s best. Xixi, Rachel, Kielan, Mariam, Dulquer, Evan.” Fury listed, his voice betraying nothing about what could have happened to them. “Their last contact with SHIELD was over a week ago. A retrieval crew was sent out to the same coordinates two days ago, and we’ve also lost contact with them just five hours prior to this meeting.”

Tony’s eyes were glued to the image of the young Asian woman. Xixi, according to the stats that ran underneath her picture. She was thirty years old, it said, lived in Manhattan and was an expert pilot and field medic. He looked at the image of a man next to hers, Kielan. Couldn’t be more than thirty-five, forty years old. Espionage agent.

Another screen appeared behind Fury, this one playing a short video clip that SHIELD had received shortly after the team had been deployed. The quality was very low, and Tony knew that couldn’t be because of the tech or the reception. The camera shook violently, the video cutting off frequently. Whoever was filming seemed to be moving, and fast. They had captured what would have normally looked like a picturesque wooded area, a blanket of velvety, untouched snow covering every inch of the ground and large coniferous trees. Sharp, flickering horizontal lines cut through them as the video glitched and groaned.

“Its—it’s moving—did, did you s—oh my god _ohmygod, Evan!_ ” There was a deafening shriek from behind the camera, one that sent shills spilling over Tony’s shoulders, the frantic sound of crunching as whoever was holding the camera tried to sprint through the deep snow, and then, then there was nothing. An abrupt cut to black, no fancy fade, no transition back into reality. Just the cut-off scream of someone who had been seeing something that no one else in the room had managed to watch with them.

The room was drenched in silence as the video started up again, on mute this time. Fury stopped his pacing, apparently having exhausted his arsenal of dramatics. He turned to face them, hand clasped behind his back as another screen popped up behind him, this one playing another video clip. It offered a bird’s eye view of what seemed to be the scene from the previous video, although much more visible, probably filmed from a jet from up above.

Frankly, it looked like the middle of fucking nowhere. The snow was what caught Tony’s eye. It covered every inch of the land and for miles. The wooded area from the other clip turned out to actually be a forest, with the tall coniferous trees grouped together as penguins huddled together for warmth. The barren land of snow abruptly gave way to this dense forest, with no sign of animal activity of any kind, including humans. No string of winter cottages, no packs of wolves trekking across the snowy expanse for breakfast. No footprints or signs of dams where families of beavers may have hunkered down for the winter.

“Where’s the jet?” It was someone off-camera. The voice was hard to make out through the reverberating hum of the flying Quinjet, but they sounded positively perplexed. Tony realized that this was the retrieval crew, probably doing an initial surveillance flight. They were looking for the original team’s Quinjet, which, unless they had activated the reflective panels that would enable its camouflage into the surrounding forest, should’ve been visible.

“It’s not showing up on the sensors either,” another voice said, this one a little more garbled than the previous. Suddenly, the camera began to shake, just as violently as in the other clip and in the exact same pattern of jerky movements. There was another chilling scream, eerily similar to the one that had pierced the silence of the conference room mere moments ago, and then— nothing. That same abrupt cut to black.

The holo-screens blipped into disappearance, only leaving the one-way glass wall behind Fury.

“Our original team consisting of two espionage agents, two combat specialists, our pilot and field medic, and on-site astrophysicists were sent to a remote location a hundred miles from Thunder Bay, Ontario two weeks ago to investigate a series of what we had registered as intergalactic anomalies.” Fury intoned, another screen popping up into existence behind him, this time with a series of coordinates pinpointed to a specific location on a map depicting Northern Ontario. “The anomalies at the time had been novel in nature,” he said, throwing a glance Thor’s way. “Not like your dear brother’s when he’d brought hell to our doorstep five years ago.”

“What do you mean by anomalies?” Steve asked, his fingers idly twirling the pen between them; a nervous tic of his that Tony had found extended beyond just writing utensils when he’d happened upon Captain America fiddling with a stick of string cheese during a particularly high stakes Friday night game of team Scrabble early on in their relationship.

“We don’t know exactly,” Fury revealed, obviously reluctant to share how they’d probably severely underestimated this for what it was. “Geometric data was off, satellites shutting down, no contact from anybody in nearby towns for weeks that went unreported. Kind of clued us off that something was going on.”

“And you didn’t think the team with a literal god from outer space and the guys with like, seventeen Ph.D.’s between them should be contacted before the shit hit the fan?” Tony asked incredulously, throwing his hands up. “And by shit hitting the fan, I mean eight potential casualties, oh, and also, not to mention a whole goddamn town of people who are just not there anymore?”

Sam raised a hand. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with the man. Why weren’t we called in sooner?”

Fury sighed in that deep, long-suffering way of his that pissed Tony off, because if anyone should be sighing long-sufferingly it should be them for still dealing with SHIELD’s same bullshit.

“With the evidence that we had at the time, we did not think the threat was so high as to require the Avengers to be called in. The activity was not Asgardian in nature and we have the resources to handle it,” Fury said, although his argument was lacking to everyone in the room. “Our job at SHIELD is dealing with anomalies, Stark. Our agents are trained to deal with situations exactly like this one. They were doing exactly what they signed up to do.”

“Nick, this isn’t like anything you’ve dealt with before,” Natasha interjected softly. She was right. They’d run missions before to retrieve SHIELD hostages or takedown intergalactic visitors who had somehow rightfully figured out that the right time to target a crowded Starbucks was before ten o’clock in the morning. How they’d figured out Starbucks was the perfect human location to target was beyond Tony. SHIELD has dealt with numerous mishaps in the past, most if not all relating to Earth’s safety in the face of a potential extraterrestrial threat. None of which had resulted in such a delayed and costly response without effective use of the resources available to SHIELD.

“What do we need to do,” Steve questioned, the firm line of his mouth betraying his displeasure at how SHIELD had handled the issue, but Tony knew he wasn’t at all surprised with the outcome of events.

Fury nodded at him, almost gratefully. “Thank you, Captain. I won’t lie to you, we are well aware that we did not have the most effective response to the situation. After SHIELD’s compromisation, things have not been running as smoothly as we had hoped, as you all know.”

“However, we are calling you in now,” Fury stated, steadfastly ignoring the heated glare that Tony kept aimed his way. “Banner and Stark, we’ve forwarded the necessary data that had been compiled by both crews with the included video logs. The Quinjet will leave tomorrow morning. I suggest you get some rest.”

* * *

Tony found himself not able to finish his fries later that night, as they all sat around the kitchen table with various packaging that had once contained every time from the Burger King menu strewn across its surface. Steve had dragged in a giant whiteboard at some point, where he’d scribbled out a pretty effective plan of action based on the data that they’d received after their meeting with Fury earlier.

There had been the question of whether the information given to them was accurate or if there was more that SHIELD wasn’t giving them, but Tony had quickly put those worries to rest by hacking into SHIELD’s most classified servers. The data that they’d been given was everything SHIELD had complied and received from the two teams that had been sent to investigate the source of the anomalies.

Steve was finishing up with assigning their roles, going over their entry and exit points, and contingency plans, of which they had multiple, because things would most likely go to shit at one point or another. 

Tony knew that Steve didn’t like plans. If it were up to him and he was working this mission alone, he would just wake up tomorrow morning, pull on the suit and figure it out on the Quinjet ride over to Thunder Bay. He worked on impulse, doing whatever the fuck felt right to him on the go.

Tony also knew that the plan was less for Steve’s own personal wellbeing and more to reassure him about the wellbeing of the people he cared about, every single one of whom would be on this mission. It was one of those things that Tony was initially messed up about when they’d first started dating and Steve would walk into a mission with a singular goal in mind and everything else made up on a whim. When he was partnered with Tony, he would always have a plan of action going in, but he would never be overbearing on the field, which was something that Tony had always appreciated and tried his best to reciprocate on.

He stared down at his half-finished fries and then glanced across the table where Clint was making eyes at them. Tony pushed his fries over, rolling his eyes fondly when Clint got his grubby paws all over them, barely pausing for breath as he inhaled the now sad and soggy fries. Natasha looked on with her eyebrows raised and Tony shrugged, before she opened her mouth in a wide yawn, proving that even scary spider assassin people got tired sometimes.

The clock was slowly inching on its way to two o’clock, and Tony quietly giggled half to himself when he recalled Fury’s earlier statement about getting enough rest. Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

Steve shot him a concerned glance, as did everyone else, and finally, _finally_ , capped the dry-erase marker with a quiet _snick_. “Alright everyone, I think we should all get some sleep. Got a long day tomorrow.”

There was a chorus of dry chuckles, some “goodnight’s” haphazardly muttered as they shuffled out of their chairs and filed off to their respective rooms. Tony caught Wilson following Barnes out of the room and his eyebrows shot up of their own will. And when had that happened, he thought to himself incredulously. Nat patted him on the shoulder and kissed Steve on the cheek, murmuring something to him, quiet enough that Tony wasn’t able to pick it up.

Steve wished him goodnight with a tired smile and left the room as well, leaving Tony alone and still in his seat. He watched Steve go, feeling that familiar ache settle under his second rib, but not enough for him to get all maudlin about it. The urge to follow Steve into his room, the one with the light blue walls that Steve had painted himself and the white curtains that would gently billow into the room with the breeze when they had it open, surprisingly failed to interrupt his musings.

After that failure of a night at the charity gala two months ago, it had taken a few weeks for Tony to approach Steve, who had taken to giving him the space he had requested while dripping sadness wherever he went. They’d had a chat, Tony had officially forgiven him, Steve had forgiven Tony, and they had also talked about what that meant for their relationship, coming to the conclusion that it was probably for the best if things remained as they were. Tony wouldn’t say they were friends now, but that conversation had given him a lot of the closure that he’d been craving, and he hoped it had given that to Steve as well. The ache grew less prominent with every passing day, and Tony fell a little more out of love with it. 

But for some reason, the regret still badgered at him, persistent and relentless.

Thoughts of Steve soon gave way to his fears about tomorrow. His mind flashed back to the video clips they’d been shown, the eyes on the screen. Xixi. Kielan. Evan. Rachel. Eleanor. Dulquer. The screams and the cut to black screens. What had they seen that Tony hadn’t been able to? What was out there?

Tony was terrified of this mission. His vision of his teammates dying was still etched into his eyelids, refusing to budge no matter what he invented to be one step ahead of whatever might bring that vision to reality. He hadn’t been on top of it this time, having been scrambling with the Accords, amending it so that the Raft would be shut down indefinitely, Barnes’ innocence proven and having a team of enhanced individuals responsible for holding other enhanced individuals accountable when necessary, rather than the super council of politicians and liaisons that had been originally suggested. The amendments had taken months to be put in place, and in the meantime, Tony had forgotten about the real threat, the one that they couldn’t predict or come up with a set of documents to hold accountable.

“Tony.”

He looked up, startled, just in time to see Natasha slink into the room and slide into the chair across from him.

“We’re not going to end up cleaning this up before we leave, are we?” She asked, a hint of amusement creeping into her voice as she looked down at the greasy wrappers scattered all over the table. Their collective inability to pick up after themselves wasn’t what she was here to talk about though, and they both were well aware of it.

“You’re worried about tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question and she didn’t ask it as one. Her eyes were piercing, but Tony could see the exhaustion glazing them over.

“So are you,” he said because it was true. Nat rarely showed if she was scared. Tony knew that it probably had to do with years of torture in the name of training back when she was in the Red Room, but it had turned into an unhealthy way to cope with what she had to do even now. This time was different. Tony could tell that she was terrified.

She looked away, reaching out to toy with the edge of one of the burgers that had once been the only thing between Bruce’s Whopper and shame.

“Well, I’m not exactly thrilled to fly into a ghost town where everything’s gone to hell, but who is?”

Tony snickered tiredly, picking at a piece of lettuce that had fallen on the table in front of him. “Thor, probably.”

“Asgardian gods aside,” she replied, her mouth quirked in that familiar smile of hers. She let go of the wrapper and covered Tony’s hand with her own, making him look up from the lettuce that he had now shredded into even tinier pieces. “We’re gonna be fine, Tony.”

“Oh, well when you say it like that, what choice do I have but to believe you,” Tony countered with a huff, smirking when Nat rolled her eyes at him.

“Sleep. Or I’ll sic Steve on you,” she threatened, pushing her chair back and somehow managing to avoid the ungodly scraping noise that it inevitably made only in the middle of the night when everyone else was fast asleep.

Tony faux groaned quietly, tossing his head back in a flail that would make bat-pirate hybrid Fury proud of his dramatics. “Oh no, the horror.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tony.”

Tomorrow. He wasn’t going to have to ride the anticipation for much longer now.

Tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you're enjoying this so far! I will be updating fairly consistently, every Monday, although I have my two finals coming up in the next few weeks, but I will try my very best to keep updating. Also, a gentle reminder that if you're enjoying this story, I would really appreciate if you left kudos and comments, mostly because I crave validation but also because they genuinely motivate me to keep writing! 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you're able to stay safe :)

Just as Fury had promised them at the meeting the previous evening, the Quinjet was juiced up and ready to go on the landing pad of the Tower by the time the entirety of the team had made it up to the roof.

Steve had foregone his usual early morning run for a quick workout down in the gym, falling into the familiar rhythm of his pre-mission routine. He’d spent a little while with the bags and then he had moved on to working with the weights for the remainder of the hour that he’d allocated for himself before going back up to get ready. The thought of their upcoming mission weighed heavily on Steve’s mind throughout his routine. Despite Tony having thoroughly….looked into SHIELD’s classified servers that none of them would normally have clearance to access, the intel that Fury had provided them seemed to be all that SHIELD had on the operation.

That was worrisome on its own, considering the limited breadth of information that they had been given for this mission that was operating on another scale entirely. Steve had worked missions for SHIELD with far less information in the past, but they usually hadn’t been as perturbing as this one was turning out to be. He knew that Tony and Bruce had probably stayed up long after the rest of them had gone to bed last night, trying to decipher as much as they can from the very little scientific data that SHIELD had gotten ahold of before they’d lost contact with both teams of agents, but he wasn’t sure how much they would’ve been able to get out of the very tiny fraction of information that they had out of the much larger picture they hadn’t even managed to grasp.

The missing agents were another aspect of it all that they had very little to go off of. Two teams of trained SHIELD personnel had been sent to investigate these anomalies, and neither team had returned. The amount of data that each team had been able to secure before they’d lost contact with SHIELD was also very limited, including the video clips that Fury had shown to them at the meeting the day before, and the scientific data that had been given to Tony and Bruce to investigate.

However, there were a few recorded logs that had miraculously made it back to SHIELD before the first crew had lost complete contact with them. It was apparent by watching them that the team had decided to split up at one point, with four of them remaining on-site to investigate the anomalies where the original coordinates had led them, and two of them having gone into the town to check if the reports that there hadn’t been any human activity from within the town for at least a week were true. The recordings followed the same odd pattern of events that they’d seen in the video clips that they'd been shown in the meeting.

The two espionage and combat specialists had been the ones to venture into the town, stating their names as Dulquer and Rachel to identify themselves at the beginning of the recording. They had dated it to almost two and a half weeks ago. They’d begun by visiting what they perceived to be the hubs of the town: a popular diner and a string of small businesses that seemed to form the town square. The streets had been barren, sidewalks empty and roads clear of any vehicles, personal or commercial. They had noticed that despite the apparent desertion, there had been cars lined up along the side of the sidewalk, but no signs of abandonment. No car doors haphazardly flung open as the people within tried to flee- whatever had caused them to disappear so abruptly. No signs of looted stores or vehicles forming the tableau of a brutal crash that would’ve suggested any struggle.

The diner had yielded similar results, however, there had been plates full of half-eaten food on every table. Some of the food had been fresh, with Rachel commenting on an arrangement of a singular pancake with a few pieces of bacon next to it that had somehow retained their greasy sheen, and upon closer inspection, having wispy curls of steam coming off of them. Other plates had pieces of orange slices that had begun to grow fur, or cups of coffee with a layer of film over their once-liquid brown surfaces.

The stores had been locked, providing some insight for the lack of lootings, but they’d all been certain that the locked storefronts did little to guarantee that the residents of this town had left voluntarily. Everything within the stores and businesses seemed to remain as they would have been regularly, minus the eerie lack of customers and workers inside. The lights were off in every building, and everything within, from furniture in a coffee shop to the drugs within a pharmacy, had all been left completely untouched.

That’s where things had started to get weird. Dulquer started to mention that he kept hearing the chiming of bells, like the ones attached to the doors of the stores that they’d just passed to alert the workers inside when a customer walked in. They’d pause and turn around, but there would be nobody there. Then he began to ask Rachel if she was seeing it. She kept asking what, what was he seeing and where, could he describe it to her? Dulquer began to get more and more frantic, the desperation more than evident in his panicked voice as he pointed something out in the distance, something that he described very loosely as the outline of a person, but with nothing inside of it.

The recording had begun to experience some sort of interference, a slight crackling that had very quickly drowned out the urgent voices of the agents, and abruptly cut off as someone started to scream. Just like the previous two video clips that they had watched.

They had sat around the dining table the night before, with dozens of burgers, so many varieties of fried potatoes, and milkshakes, poring over the videos from the meeting and the recordings from Dulquer and Rachel. They’d made note of every detail, every odd sound in the background that might’ve gone unnoticed by the original agents as they had made their way through a deserted town. Nat had pointed out that when Dulquer began to hear the bells, the constant howling of the wind that had accompanied the agents’ stream of observations had suddenly been replaced with silence. After that, they weren’t able to hear any noises other than the sounds of the agents’ voices.

Steve had led the team in coming up with a plan, even though there was nothing that he disliked more than following a plan. He knew that for a mission like this one, they were going to have to reel in each of their well-practiced reckless tendencies in order to make it out of this with the missing agents and residents of the town, and having found out the source of the anomalies. On top of that fairly ambitious objective, they were meant to come out of this preferably alive.

They knew that the team would have to split up, like the first crew had done, in order to investigate the town and the area where the previous two teams had received as the original source of the anomalies that SHIELD had registered within their systems. One advantage that the Avengers had that neither of the two previous teams hadn’t, was that more than half of them were enhanced in some way. They’d decided that the non-enhanced would be partnered with an enhanced team member so that they would each have a better chance when they inevitably came into contact with whatever had caused members of both of the previous teams to virtually disappear.

Despite their careful planning involving the whole team, something that Steve didn’t recall them doing since their sceptre raids before everything with Ultron happened, he still worried. He knew that they had an advantage that the other teams hadn’t, in fact, they had multiple advantages, including an alien god who was probably more familiar with intergalactic activity than any of them, a genius in a metal suit with an entire arsenal of weaponry built into it, two supersoldiers, a Hulk, and three highly trained special op agents, one of whom also had a suit that allowed for flight.

And yet, there was so much that they didn’t know. What kind of intergalactic threat were they dealing with? Had this source been brought to Earth from another planet or had it only been recently activated somehow after years of being hidden somewhere on Earth? Why did the anomalies seem to be concentrated in one particular location, rather than the generic world-ruling goals of the other intergalactic visitors that they had faced in the past?

As Steve stood underneath the frigid stream of his shower, he felt the tight grip of familiar restless energy working through him as the urge to climb into that awaiting Quinjet and get the mission done and over with became harder to ignore. Instead, he scrubbed himself clean of the sweat and grime that had built up in a filthy layer over his skin during his time in the gym. When he stepped out of the shower, JARVIS asked him if he’d like to partake in the team breakfast that was in the makings in the team kitchen on the communal floor that they often gathered on. Steve knew that JARVIS always asked as a formality, but the team breakfasts had become a part of their collective pre-mission routine in the months after the Avengers who hadn’t previously signed the Accords, had returned.

He quickly pulled on his suit, buckling his boots up and easing the shield out of its unnecessary leather casing that Steve hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to get rid of, as it’d been a gift from Tony from back when they were together. He hooked the shield onto the magnetic harness attached to the back of his suit and headed out with Dodger’s leash and a bag of goodies in hand.

Dodger trotted up to Steve's feet as soon as he stepped out of his bedroom to receive his morning kisses, and let himself be attached to the leash, his tongue lolling out as he patiently waited for Steve to get him clipped and harnessed.

“Hey pal….yeah, hi,” Steve murmured, crouching down to get Dodger clipped onto his leash and smoothing his hand through the soft part of Dodger’s head, between his perked up ears. “I’m gonna be away for a bit, just like we talked about. Try not to shit on Jack for me,” Steve paused and frowned a little as he tried to figure out if Jack was indeed the name of the intern who had agreed (stood at parade rest the entire time Steve was talking to him and actually saluted him when he left) to take care of Dodger until Steve returned.

Dodger yipped, happy to be on the receiving end of all the attention as Steve took his face between his hands and gave him a good cuddle. Steve straightened again, sticking his hand through the loop of Dodger’s leash and wrapping it around his wrist a couple of times. He made a quick stop at the kitchen on his floor to grab the bottle of water he kept in the fridge for his runs and missions and stepped into the waiting elevator.

He left Dodger with the intern (who was indeed named Jack) and made his way back up the private elevator that led to the Avengers’ common floor, where the others were probably just beginning to trickle in. To his surprise, Steve ended up walking into a scene straight out of the McCallister’s household just before leaving for their Christmas vacation (and consequently abandoning their youngest child).

There were at least three coffee pots sitting out on the table, two of them half empty and the third being guzzled straight from the pot, still steaming, by Bucky, who looked very unhappy to be there so early in the morning. The table was even more of a mess than it had been when Steve had left it last night, but he noticed that someone had graciously removed the wrappers and boxes that they hadn’t gotten rid of the night before. There were plates of eggs, very fragile-looking towers of pancakes, and small puddles of maple syrup slowly seeping toward the bottom rims of glasses to inevitably leave behind resilient stains on the table.

Tony was at the stove, Natasha had her feet up on the breakfast table, frantically shoving forkfuls of hot waffle into her mouth as if she was afraid of someone coming to take them away from her. Clint and Sam goaded Bucky on as he neared the bottom of the coffee pot, banging their fists on their table as they chanted “chug, chug, chug,” eerily in sync with each other. Bruce had three different tablets spread out in front of him with a tiny carton of yogurt sitting idly and abandoned off to the side. Thor was at the toaster, halfway through the pile of Pop-Tarts on his plate as he waited for more to pop out.

Steve did a double-take.

Tony was at the _stove_. What in God’s name had persuaded him to lift up a spatula that was not sentient?

He looked more alert than everyone else in the room combined, his focus on the pan in front of him as he flipped over the edge of what looked to be an omelette. Steve cringed as the charred backside of the egg was revealed, causing Tony to scowl at his pan as if it had personally wronged him. He was also in his black flight suit, covered in the armour from his waist down with his left hand ensconced within the gauntlet. Steve tore his gaze away from the curve of Tony’s back that was unnecessarily accentuated as the flight suit bled into the red and gold metallic plates of the Iron Man armour.

Tony was the first to notice his arrival, his scowl transforming into a hesitant smile as he turned to wave at Steve.

“Morning, Cap! I would offer you an omelette, but I don’t think you want this one,” he said, gesturing to the burnt mess in his pan with a grimace. “Nat made pancakes. If you want,” he waved in the general direction of the table with his spatula before turning back to his omelette, probably thinking of some way to salvage it.

“I’ll stick to the pancakes,” Steve replied dryly, finally moving towards the table where Natasha had already pulled out the chair next to hers for him. He sat down as Sam pushed a plate already filled with various breakfast items towards him. Bucky waved the now empty coffee pot at him apologetically.

“Sorry, Stevie. I can make you more?” Bucky offered, but Steve declined with his lips quirked. He cut into his pancakes, taking in the utter chaos of the scene around him. Tony had given up on the omelettes and was heading back to the table with the original omelette that was black where it was definitely not supposed to be black. Steve almost wanted to get up and make another omelette for him. It looked that bad.

Thor also eventually made his way back with his Pop-Tarts that he was inhaling as fast as the toaster was popping them out. Bruce stacked his tablets on top of each other and turned to the sad cup of yogurt, smiling sheepishly at Steve when he placed a full plate of food in front of him.

“What’s with the omelette, Stark?” Clint asked at one point, reaching across the table for seconds, just barely avoiding Natasha’s swat as he grabbed the last couple pieces of bacon.

Tony looked up from where he’d been in deep conversation with Bruce, their heads bent together as they peered at one of Bruce’s tablets. “Oh. I was hungry. Wasn’t really feeling pancakes.”

Sam frowned at him dubiously, looking at the vast array of food on the table apart from the highly popular pancakes. “There’s also eggs,” he grimaced at the burnt egg that Tony had barely touched. “That are not black.”

“Hey! My omelette is great. It’s just….a work in progress,” Tony defended even as he flushed at the scrutiny he and his omelette were currently receiving. Steve coughed to hide his laugh, but judging from the betrayed glare Tony sent him, he wasn’t being as discrete as he’d thought.

“I don’t think omelettes are supposed to be a work in progress, Tony,” Nat said, eyeing the omelette with an eyebrow raised as she exuded judgement upon the charred egg. “I think they’re just supposed to be—done.”

“That omelette is done, alright!” Clint snickered into his bacon. “Stark, you fried the shit out of that egg.”

“Alright, can we lay off my omelette, please? It’s not even terrible.” Tony interrupted, wincing when he merely succeeded in having several extremely dubious expressions swivelling his way. He slowly cut off a piece of it and placed it delicately into his mouth, his face completely blank as he swallowed.

“Seriously, what’s up with the omelette?” Nat asked, nodding at the plate as they all watched Tony as he almost comically chewed the bite in his mouth and visibly tried not to gag when he swallowed it. “Is this like the time you made Pep—”

Tony dropped his fork onto the plate with a loud clatter, sitting back in his chair and glaring at Nat. Steve remembered this story, vaguely recalling Tony having told it to him as the reason behind his indefinite ban from using a stove, helpfully instated by JARVIS.

“Yes. Okay? This is my stress omelette. Are you happy now, Nat? It sucks. I’m gonna end up feeding it to Steve’s dog. Can we just, shut up about it please?” Tony said, all in one breath, looking around the table defiantly despite the giggles that everyone was trying really hard to suppress for his ego's benefit.

“Uh, actually, Dodger’s with Jack,” Steve supplied, probably unhelpfully based on the withering look that Tony sent his way. “Also, that wouldn’t be great for him. He’s got stomach problems.”

Tony rolled his eyes, pushing away from the table and walking over to the trash can. “Don’t worry, Steve. I won’t try to give your dog diarrhea.” He pushed the remains of his omelette into the garbage, grimacing at it. “Ugh, I hate throwing out food.”

“I could’ve eaten it,” Thor piped up, his cheeks still stuffed full of Pop-Tart. Tony whirled on him with an incredulous look on his face.

“Thanks for the very belated note, Theodore,” he muttered, stalking over to the dishwasher to stuff his plate inside.

“You didn’t ask,” Thor shrugged simply, returning to the very last Pop-Tart sitting innocuously on his plate, which he looked at with absolute joy on his face that Steve generally associated with defeating an army of aliens in the middle of New York with five nuts you met two hours ago.

Tony rolled his eyes, grabbing his coffee and slipping out of the kitchen, all the while muttering under his breath about hauling their asses up to the Quinjet before he left them all behind.

The remainder of breakfast went without further event. Thor finished his last Pop-Tart and debated aloud whether he should bring another box with him for the ride over, a decision which Bruce firmly vetoed. Natasha left the table after finishing her own breakfast, not bothering to bring her plate over to the dishwasher. Sam and Bucky began to bicker as they cleaned up after themselves. After sharing a tired look with Clint, Steve got up himself, deciding to head up to the Quinjet himself.

The rest of them filed into the jet not long after him, and they lifted off from the Tower’s landing pad not long after that. Nat and Clint were at the helm, while the rest of them went over the plan again, making sure everyone had their roles in mind. Bucky, Sam, Nat and Thor were going to head into town and split off when they got there. They’d figured that two of them would check out the commercial area of the town, as the original team had done, while the other two ventured into the neighbourhood to see if the residents had somehow been sequestered to their homes by some unseeing force.

Steve and Tony were going to check out the forest and surrounding area to see if they could recover members of either of the two SHIELD teams that they’d lost contact with and see if there were any samples they could recover that would point them to the source of the anomalies that SHIELD had registered. Bruce was going to remain at the jet and conduct sweeps with their radar to see if they could get a hold of any tech that still might be out there, human or otherwise. They’d decided on a signal for if the Hulk was ever going to be required, but Steve was sincerely hoping that it wouldn’t come to that. Clint was to stay with Bruce for back-up since he was technically still retired according to the SHIELD roster.

The ride over was unusually quiet. All eight of the main Avengers on duty were rarely sent on missions at the same time, but even when there were two or more of them, the Quinjet ride over to their location was usually more lively than this. Tony was murmuring quietly to JARVIS in one corner as he checked over his armour, and Bucky was helping Sam suit up in another. Bruce had an array of holo-screens floating in front of him as he studied them with a frown.

As they neared the location that the coordinates had pointed them to, Thor came and sat next to Steve where he had been restlessly sitting on the edge of one of the benches near the bay doors. Thor looked up at where Bruce had called Tony over to discuss something he had found in his readings.

“It feels weird, right?” Thor asked Steve, the rumble of his accented voice almost too low for Steve to catch amidst the deep hum of the jet’s engines.

“Yeah, I’m thinking it was the bacon,” Steve quipped, his eyes fixed on the way Tony’s hands flipped through the screens that Bruce was pointing to, his eyes deeply curious as they read the graphs and numbers projected in front of him. Tony was frowning, flicking one of the screens back and gesturing in that way he did when he’d figured something out and was explaining why he was right. Bruce was dutifully taking down what Tony was saying, even as Tony walked away a little as his thoughts evidently gained momentum.

Thor looked at him with a doubtful frown. “No, the bacon was good, actually. Almost as good as those popping tarts. Delicious things. Not quite as good as an Asgardian roast though, of course.”

Steve’s mind unhelpfully provided him with the image of a rotting slab of meat that had been sitting out on the communal kitchen counter with various species of flying insects swarming it, which Thor had claimed to be his famous roast that he had been preparing for their team dinner.

“Nothing like it.”

Thor shifted next to him and Steve could feel the slight tingle of energy that seemed to constantly hover over Thor’s skin. It felt like the uncomfortable pull of static electricity making your hair stand up on end after pulling off a sweater on a dry winter’s day. Most of them had gotten used to the feeling after years of living with Thor, but Steve found himself noticing it more prominently after Thor had returned from being off-world for some time.

“The air is a bit off. It actually reminds me of one time when I was younger, and my brother transformed himself into a little bat, because he knows how much I love bats, and as I went to admire it, he transformed back into himself and stabbed me,” Thor explained, earning an incredulous look from Tony and a “Seriously, again?” from an equally incredulous looking Bruce.

Steve did not know how he was supposed to respond to that. “You know, Thor? That sounds about right.”

“Actually, Jason Mendoza here might have a point,” Tony said, flicking his holo-screen towards Steve and Thor. As he walked toward them, Steve noticed the way he was carefully avoiding eye contact with him.

“See that?” Tony asked, pointing to a patch of purple on the screen capturing what the jet’s infrared sensors were recording. “That’s not supposed to be there. It’s an abnormally large force of energy beginning in the area surrounding the coordinates we’re heading to, and moving towards the town….over there,” Tony explained, pointing towards a nearby area that was a little further away which Steve presumed was the town.

“You know what the source is,” Steve said, because he knew that Tony would probably have a thousand ideas already about what they were dealing with if he hadn’t figured it out already. Judging by the way Tony glanced up at him with naked surprise, Steve had guessed correctly.

“I think I know what the source is,” Tony replied, carefully pasting on what Steve had come to know as his press face, his smile stretched a little too thin and his eyes guarded. He turned back to the screen, flicking the infrared image out of the way and zooming in on something else. When Steve peered closer, he noticed that Tony had replaced the previous display with a satellite image of the location. The zoomed-in portion of the screen showed a small box, which Steve was able to identify as a cottage or cabin of some sort. Tony flicked back to another image, this one with a date printed on the bottom right corner telling them that it was taken about two months ago. The small box was gone.

Bruce waved at the screen with his pen. “Tony and I traced the energy to this cabin, which wasn’t there before SHIELD started registering the anomalies.”

“Also, the frequency and strength of energy that’s being emitted isn’t like any source that we’ve seen on Earth, my tech included,” Tony added with a smirk. “This right here, that’s alien tech. But we already knew that. Sort of.”

“It was a lot more familiar to us when we dug a little deeper,” Bruce continued, his troubled eyes behind his glasses turning to Steve and Thor almost apologetically. “The only time we’ve seen an energy source like this was- well, with the Tesseract.”

Thor perked up, his brows furrowed in an inquisitive frown that looked foreign on his face. “You think it’s another stone?”

They all turned to look at him in askance.

“What stone are you talking about, Thor?” Bruce asked, the little dot on the screen blinking red showing that they were fast approaching the location, in between them.

Thor’s frown deepened as he regarded them. “Like, the infinity stones? Thanos is after them, yada yada, big, purple guy in the chair?”

“Who the fuck is Thanos?” Sam asked, walking over to where the rest of them had gathered.

“So Loki was working for Thanos, who’s the big boss, basically. Titan, really mean, purple—”

“You mentioned the purple, bud.”

“Yes, but he is very purple, it’s important that you know. So, Loki came here for the Tesseract, yes? In it, was the space stone, which has like, powers and things. There are other stones, but I’m not sure how many. But the reality stone, which is more of an angry sludge thing, was in Asgard briefly, and kind of—went in my girlfriend, Jane—”

“Jane Foster?” Bruce asked, his voice gaining pitch at the end as his face scrunched up in confusion.

“Yes, Jane. Anyway, that’s one of them, but there’s more. If there’s lots of energy that’s kind of floating around there, it could be another infinity stone, you know,” Thor finished, looking at each of them expectantly.

“Okay, I feel like that was a lot of information and I’m having trouble processing—” Sam shook his head as if clearing it of the rapid influx of stuff and shot an incredulous look at Steve, who was having a hard time understanding himself.

Tony and Bruce shared a glance with each other, before diving back into the screens in a flurry. Bruce scribbled some more notes into his notebook, pushing his glasses up his nose when they began to slide forward, as Tony described to him what he was seeing. His words were a blur of equations and theories and a number of things that Steve couldn’t even begin to grasp, but he realized that he’d never get tired of watching Tony work. It was always like everything went away, even the worst things, until it was just Tony and the data in front of him.

“Thor, you may be onto something,” Tony said, his eyes transfixed to the additional screens that had floated up around him when Steve hadn’t been paying attention. “This source is clearly not from Earth. And if you’ve encountered two of these—infinity stones or whatever, then there could be more. We don’t know much, but this seems like our best bet.”

“How would the infinity stone being there explain the disappearances?” Steve wondered, idly noticing the way Tony’s gaze flitted to him once again when he spoke, before he hurriedly schooled his expression into one that was more closed off.

“We don’t know what kind of power this infinity stone might have. And more than that, we don’t know who brought it there,” Bruce explained with a shrug, dropping his notebook with a puzzled look on his own face. “To be honest, Steve, we can’t be sure what’s going on until we see it for ourselves. We can’t even be sure that what we’re dealing with is an infinity stone. It could just be some other, all-powerful intergalactic energy source.”

“It’s still a threat,” Tony said, nodding at Bruce. “If this Thanos guy is really after it, who’s to say he’s not on our tail right now? It could be a plant to get us there.”

Steve nodded decisively, still fumbling with all the information that was being filed in the “after the ice: aliens and other fucking weird shit” part of his brain that was rapidly running out of the room. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Thousands have disappeared and the evidence we have suggests that some sort of foul play was involved in the disappearances of both SHIELD crews. As far as we know, this is a threat.”

“Aye, aye, Cap,” Tony saluted him with a wide grin, which Steve couldn’t help but reciprocate. “When we check out that cabin, I’ll see if I can pick up some samples for Brucie and me to science.”

They dispersed after that, Sam going up to the helm to update Nat and Clint on what they’d just talked about, and Thor and Bruce hunkering down to work on some of the snacks from the decent-sized stash they’d managed to accumulate from missions over the years. Bucky came over after a while to sit next to Steve.

“You scared?” Bucky asked him with that crooked smile of his, the one that Steve had missed desperately when he’d gotten out of the ice, the one that he’d never admit that he cried after seeing for the first time after Bucky had gone through deprogramming.

“Always,” Steve replied with a smile of his own, the familiar words rolling over his tongue like a soothing salve.

“You gonna punch some aliens?”

“You bet.”

The jet slowly lowered itself as they arrived at the coordinates, the door unhinging outward just as Nat and Clint had them safely landed into the snow.

Steve activated the comm that he’d shoved into his ear moments ago, muttering a quick test into it to make sure that everyone had their own devices turned on and active. After he'd received confirmation, he led the team outside at a jog, turning back to briefly marvel at the shimmering panels of the Quinjet reflecting its surroundings as it went into stealth mode.

As he took in the scene around them, Steve couldn’t help but gape a little bit. Bucky let out a low whistle next to him and he found himself agreeing wholeheartedly.

They were in some sort of winter wonderland, like what Narnia must have looked like when Lucy Pevensie stepped out of the wardrobe, or what Steve imagined Dean Martin was singing about in the popular Christmas song. The ground was a blanket of white snow, untouched and so velvety soft that Steve was nearly overcome with the urge to stomp his foot in it. Thor had long succumbed to the urge evidently, as he pranced around giddily in the snow, exclaiming about how cold yet light it was, and was asking Tony why the snow in New York was always brown and dirty.

The whiteness of the snow was so immensely bright that Steve had to squint until his eyes began to adjust to the piercing light that was almost painful to look at. In the distance, the dense thicket of coniferous trees that they’d seen in the SHIELD agents’ video recordings could be seen, starting off sparse and growing nearly impenetrable farther within.

It was a sight that was almost frightening. The sheer density of the forest with trees taller than any that Steve had ever encountered was nearly overwhelming, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold crawling down his spine.

He brought a gloved hand up to his ear. “Ready, Avengers?” He received a series of affirmative answers. “Meet back here in two hours. Good luck.” Steve felt Tony’s gauntleted fingers lift him under his arms as Iron Man took off and began to rise up above the ground. He caught a glimpse of Nat, Bucky, Sam and Thor taking off on the snowmobiles from the jet, speeding off in the direction of the town. The jet’s door slowly arched upward as Bruce and Clint made their way back inside to keep an eye on the surroundings, as Bruce ran through their data and anything the jet’s sensors would pick up.

As Iron Man began to propel forward in earnest, the body of the armour flattening out to become streamlined, Steve twisted in Tony’s grasp so that he was being held parallel to the armour. Steve felt the little footholds slide out from the armour and slotted his boots into them. In this position, Steve’s view consisted of the wide backdrop of the grey sky featuring the hardened face of Iron Man. He kept his eyes fixed where his gloved hand grasped Tony's shoulder, painfully aware of the fact that Tony could see his every move up close.

They flew for a very long time. Neither of them spoke for the duration of the flight, which seemed to drag on for much longer than it probably really was. When they’d done this the first time, just weeks after their successful defeat of Loki and the Chitauri army, Steve had been absolutely terrified. His mind had tormented him with memories of hanging onto the side of a moving train for dear life as he helplessly watched Bucky fall. Peggy’s voice cutting out and then the expanse of nothing as he brought the Valkyrie down on his own. Tony’s limp body ensconced in the Iron Man armour, plunging from a portal-free sky.

But Tony hadn’t let go of him. He’d held him close for the entire five minutes it had taken for them to get from the jet to the hideout where they’d gotten word of the sceptre being kept.

_“Captain, prepare for take-off. Please make sure all small things are secure. That includes your incredibly tiny waist, Cap. Seriously, it’s Pilates, isn’t it? Or Zumba? I feel like you might be a Zumba kinda guy.”_

This flight wasn’t anything like that first one. Steve didn’t think for a second that Tony would drop him or anything, he felt just as secure as ever held within the firm grasp of Iron Man. But nothing else felt the same. Despite there being very little physical space between them, Steve felt very removed from Tony in a way that he hadn't felt in a long time.

“Touching down in thirty seconds,” Tony said to him, the sound of his voice nearly startling Steve out of his grasp entirely. Steve nodded an affirmative to let him know that he’d heard, finally glancing at the Iron Man mask that retained its impassive stare straight ahead.

Once they were about fifty feet from the ground, Steve almost wanted to jump out of Iron Man’s hold. He knew that he would make the fall.

Tony touched them down a couple hundred feet away from the cabin itself, which was a lot smaller than Steve had thought it would be in person. Steve righted himself once his feet were on the ground, or rather, in the ground, as his boots sunk fairly deep into the layer of powdery snow covering the forest floor. He took a deep breath, shivering as the brisk air filled his lungs almost painfully. His teeth clattered as he looked around, completely unrelated to the cold.

“Cover the radius and then make our way in?” Steve spoke into the comm, turning around to face Tony who still had his faceplate up.

“You got it, Cap.”

They split up, Steve going around the left side of the cabin and Tony taking the right. Steve unhooked his shield from his back and swung it around so it was positioned in front of him. He moved forward slowly, grateful for the soft snow under his feet to cover any sound that his steps might have made.

The cabin was located in the middle of a clearing, where the trees seemed to part for its placement. Upon closer inspection, Steve noticed that the ground surrounding the cabin that made up the clearing was absent of any stumps or debris that might’ve suggested that the trees had been cut down to create space for it. It was almost as if the trees had just—not grown there at all.

Steve stuck close to the trees at the edge of the clearing, peering into the dark forest to see if there could be any signs of activity inside. He honestly didn’t know what he was hoping to find. A secret alien base set up in the forest so they could watch their cabin trap lure unsuspecting town residents and SHIELD agents into? That wouldn’t even make Steve’s list of top ten weirdest things he’d ever come across on a mission.

“East side’s clear. I’m gonna make a quick pit stop in the forest. Check it out a little,” Tony’s voice came through the comm, just as Steve heard the quiet whine of Iron Man’s repulsors as he flew into the thicket on the opposite side of the cabin.

“Be careful, Tony. Don’t fly out too far, we don’t know what’s out there,” Steve reminded him, finishing up his own perimeter check of the west side of the clearing. He was expecting a snarky retort about how Tony hadn’t signed up to be mothered, but the only reply he got was a curt affirmative acknowledging his warning.

Steve ventured into the clearing, wading through the snow cautiously, almost as if he was expecting a mine to go off from under his feet as soon as he stepped away from the forest of conifers. The clearing itself had a diameter of about two hundred feet, the cabin sitting at the very centre of it. The thicket of trees formed an almost perfect circle around the cabin, the perimeter line separating it from the trees far too crisp to be a product of nature.

The cabin itself was small, as he’d noticed when they’d first flown in. Steve estimated that it couldn’t have been more than five-hundred square feet. It was a rectangular log cabin, the slanted trapezoidal roof dusted with a light layer of snow. There were three wooden steps leading up to the front door, which was painted a bright red colour that wasn’t in accordance with the faded outer appearance of the rest of the cabin. On the same outer wall of stacked logs as the door was a single, covered window.

Steve slowly circled the cabin, keeping an eye out for anything that seemed abnormal, both about the cabin or in the clearing surrounding it. Everything was exactly the same as it had been fifteen minutes ago when they’d landed at the edge of the clearing, except for the light snow that had begun to fall.

He climbed up the steps, hearing the wood creak underneath his weight. Steve heard the soft whine of Tony’s repulsors as he presumably returned into the clearing.

“You trying to get this party started without me, Cap? I’m offended.” Tony quipped as he clomped up the steps himself. He muttered a command to JARVIS under his breath and the armour unfolded to let him step out of it. “Sentry mode,” he instructed, and Steve watched as the armour knitted itself back into one piece, its metal arms outstretched with the familiar blue of the glowing repulsors, as it slowly ran surveillance from one side to the other.

“Did you find anything?” Steve inquired, resisting the urge to wrap his arm around Tony’s shoulder and usher him into the cabin when he began to rub his hands up and down his arms in an effort to stave off the cold.

Tony shook his head in the negative. “Just miles of trees, it looks like. I got JARVIS to run some scans as well, and nada,” he shrugged, shivering slightly as a sharp gust of wind accompanied the thickening snowfall.

“Well, maybe they’re waiting for us in there,” Steve suggested dryly, nodding at the bright red door that was almost taunting them with its faux, homey appearance. He fell into a familiar defensive stance, shield pointed out toward the door. He heard the whirring of the Iron Man armour behind him, the metal plates shifting apart to presumably let Tony back inside.  
“After you, Captain.”

Steve jerked forward and kicked the door open, thrusting forward with the shield entering before the rest of him. He heard Tony step inside after him, the hiss of pneumatics as the armour’s joints moved almost muffled by the densely falling snow that had begun to descend thickly as they had been standing in front of the door.

The inside of the cabin was dark, the only light being diluted by the curtains covering the small window that Steve had seen earlier. The walls were awash in the grey-blue light, a similar stream of light coming from the opposite wall revealing another window that had been covered, this one slightly bigger. Steve stepped further inside of the cabin, aware of Tony coming up beside him, his arms outstretched and repulsors charged.

The blue light from Tony’s repulsors illuminated the room they were standing in, revealing a kitchenette leading into a seating area with surprisingly modern furnishings, from what limited knowledge Steve had in his arsenal about interior design in the twenty-first century.

There was a small, rectangular island with two barstools precariously made of wood. The legs were thick, polished sticks that had been bound together in the traditional four-legged form with smaller pieces of wood running between the legs for additional support and what usually ended up being used as footrests from Steve’s experience. The seat looked to be a thin slab of lighter wood that had been attached on top.

The island itself was similarly made of wood, with cylindrical pieces of wood stacked upright next to each other to form the base, and a large polished slab to make up the surface settled on top of them. Above the kitchen island, were two dome lights that flared outward towards the surface of the island, and hanging from a thin black chain secured at the ceiling.

Further down was an arrangement of plush, brown armchairs set so they were facing each other from opposing sides of the faded, rectangular Oriental rug. With its back facing the door, a similar plush loveseat sat facing a charred, stone fireplace. Further down, Steve was able to just make out a door that was ajar, a dark sliver the only thing from inside the room that was visible.

To their left was the kitchenette, with again, more surprisingly modern appliances. The cabinets were made of a similar dark, polished wood as the kitchen island, with the same material used for the countertops. There was a sleek, metallic oven, not unlike the ones that they had back at the Tower, and a similar refrigerator that was slightly smaller than the one Steve had in his own kitchen on his floor. Cabinets had also been attached to the upper walls, some of them with a window on their doors displaying the plates and dishes that were apparently sitting inside. There was a thick layer of dust on every surface in the room.

At his first customary glance of the room, it seemed to have been untouched for years. However, Steve knew better than to be fooled by that when an intergalactic threat was involved, so he kept his guard up as he slowly led them both deeper inside the cabin.

They inched their way across the room until they reached the door at the far end, next to the fireplace. Steve pushed it open with his boot, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting and using the faint light from Tony’s repulsors as his guide. There was a large, queen bed at the centre of the room, pushed up against the far wall. A similar Oriental rug to the one that had been in the other room, however, this one seemed to be a darker red colour, had been placed underneath the bed.

There was a small wooden nightstand on either side of the bed, identical in shape and size. They looked to be made of the same polished wood as the other furniture they had encountered. They also each had an identical lamp sitting atop their surface. Each wall to the left and right of the bed had windows, Steve noticed belatedly. The room was so dark because the windows had been covered with thicker curtains that the ones used to cover the two smaller windows in the other room. Pushed up against the wall where the door was, a large wardrobe sat, this one made of a darker wood than the other furniture.

A light was flicked on, and Steve nearly whirled around, his shield aloft. Tony had backed away a few steps, his gauntleted arms held up as he pointed to the light switch on the wall to Steve’s right.

“Can’t see shit in here,” Tony said in explanation as Steve flushed with embarrassment and sheepishly turned back around to face the inside of the bedroom. “Guess nobody’s home.”

“I’m going to check this room out a little more,” Steve said, already making his way inside. “Make sure we really are the only ones in here.”

Tony’s faceplate shifted up, revealing his amused expression underneath. “Gonna check under the bed for monsters, Cap?”

“You know it,” Steve muttered, already on his knees and lifting up the part of the duvet that was hanging over the side of the bed so he could peer underneath it.

“There’s nothing here, Cap. I’ve run multiple scans. No living or otherwise non-Earthly being is in here.” Tony told him from the doorway, stepping out of his suit. “J, sentry mode, please.” The armour accordingly complied, joints whirring as it strode toward the front door and stood facing it.

“What if something left us a not so nice housewarming surprise from space and then left?” Steve suggested, standing up and walking towards the wardrobe.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and watched him. “Maybe something was in here, sure. But no surprises, Cap. Trust me, there’s nothing in here that J wouldn’t have caught.”

Steve looked up at him with a quirked brow. “The infinity stone?”

Tony shrugged, looking away. “No sign of it. I was thinking it might’ve been buried where the jet is, but the Quinjet and the suit’s scans suggest that it’s not. Bruce thinks someone used it here and then left.”

“That’s why the cabin’s here now, but it wasn’t in that other photo,” Steve supplied, sticking his nose inside of the wardrobe. Nothing of notice except a few men’s shirts and jeans hung up inside, with the drawers showing assorted pairs of socks and underwear. All men’s clothes, though. Steve didn’t speculate about that too much; he was aware that anyone can wear whatever clothes they wanted and the fact that these were traditionally worn by men, that meant very little.

“Yeah, exactly. Thor said the reality stone can warp reality—well, duh,” Tony rolled his eyes, smiling hesitantly when Steve chuckled. “Maybe this cabin isn’t even real.”

Steve furrowed his brows, shutting the doors of the wardrobe closed and stepping back towards the bed to rifle through the nightstands. “Seems pretty real to me.”

“No one person has the same reality, Cap. I’m experiencing this differently than you are even though we’re looking at the same stuff.” Tony said, his voice oddly contemplative. Steve looked over his shoulder, catching Tony’s eyes just to have him tear his gaze away toward the slightly protruding logs that made up the walls of the cabin.

“As far as I know, which isn’t much, this cabin is very real for the both of us,” Steve quipped, before frowning at the sudden flurry of crackling in his ear. Tony similarly brought a hand up to the comm link in his ear, moving into the larger room of the cabin with Steve on his heels.

“C—ap—this is—W—dow. D’you—c—”

“Widow? What’s your status?” Steve queried, looking up to share a worried glance with Tony when all they got in response was the sound of static.

“Nat? You okay?” Tony asked, already stepping into his awaiting suit as Steve got ahold of his shield again. “If no one says anything, Cap and I are gonna haul our asses to you.”

“T—ny—don’t come—some—ng—it’s not—”

“Real—st—ywhe—our—suits aren’t—”

“Sam? What’s your location?” Steve barked into the comm, striding up to the front door. “Stay where you are! We’re on our way.” He reached out to pull open the door, hand tugging on the knob.  
It wouldn’t budge. Steve pulled as hard as he could, alarmed when not even the doorknob gave way from his strength. Tony stepped forward and lifted up his arm, the repulsor whining before blasting the door. Through the smoke that immediately unfurled from the strike, Steve could make out the door, standing perfectly solid and as untouched as it had been when they had entered the cabin.

“What the fuck, JARVIS? Why isn’t the door opening?” Tony asked, his voice taking on a hint of desperation as the repulsors charged, again and again, blasting the door relentlessly and without any result whatsoever. Not even a splintering. Steve charged forward with his shield, bringing it down onto the knob and then standing back and flinging it with every ounce of his strength at the door.

“Widow, what’s your status?” Steve muttered through pants, watching as Tony aimed two of his shoulder missiles at the windows. “Widow, do you copy? Falcon? Buck? Is anyone there?”

“This is so not going according to plan. There is no plan anymore. We are very much plan-less,” Tony muttered, as the missiles exploded against the glass of the windows, their impact seemingly muffled by the glass, and doing nothing except shattering into pieces of shrapnel on the floor.

The comms cut out entirely, not even leaving a stream of static for them to listen to. The window next to the fireplace suddenly flung open, the curtains billowing inward with the howling wind and a sheet of snow that pushed its way inside. The cold snaked down the neck of Steve’s suit, curling around his warm skin.

He froze, feeling sick to his stomach. Bile settled at the base of his throat as something tightened around his chest, constricting him like a boa preparing its next meal. His heart began to race, his palms grew clammy and his vision began to darken at the edges. Steve couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe….he was driving the aircraft into the ice, nose-diving, all he could see was white, blinding, then it was cold, so cold it turned the air in his lungs to ice—

“Hey, hey. Steve. Buddy, you’re okay. We’re in the middle of bumfuck Canada. You’re not alone. I’m here, I got you.” It was Tony. Steve felt warm, calloused hands tightly grasp his own and when all he could see were dark spots, Steve felt two strong arms wrapping around him, pulling him towards a solid chest. He felt something circular and hard push into the middle of his own chest as he slumped into the embrace.

“I’m here. You’re okay. We’re gonna be okay,” Tony murmured softly, hugging Steve closer to his chest. Steve’s vision slowly began to clear, his gasping breaths easing out and leaving him behind with a feeling of being unwell, tremors running their course through his body even as he returned to himself. He realized that Tony was holding him. Blinking away the prick in his eyes, Steve buried his face into Tony’s soft shoulder.

“Sorry,” he muttered, voice muffled by Tony’s shirt. Tony’s hand which had been buried in his damp hair, softly rubbing the back of his head, immediately stilled at the apology.

“If you apologize for having a panic attack, I will repulsor your ass so hard, Rogers,” he warned, moving his head away to look at Steve. “It was the cold, right?”

Steve nodded, his teeth clenched against the wall of ice that threatened to have his mind buried inside of it. Tony nodded as well, slowly stepping away from him and directing Steve to one of the barstools at the island. He pushed Steve down onto it and then crossed the room to pull the open window shut.

Steve tried his comm once again, but to no avail. He slumped in the stool, burying his head in his hands, his exhausted mind rapidly filing through all the options they had, what could have gone so terribly wrong, how they could get in contact with the others. He barely noticed as Tonys strode back toward him, bustling past to flick on the light and then opening up cabinets and drawers.

“We need to get out of here,” Steve said, sitting up and looking for where he had dropped his shield. Tony merely turned around with a smirk, although Steve could see the thinly veiled terror in his eyes.

“How about some tea first,” he asked, opening up one of the cabinets with the glass window on the front and pulling out two mugs, one with a faded Union Jack and the other with an image of Mickey Mouse on its ceramic side, with a soft “yay!”

“Tony, I’m not joking. We need to find a way to get back to the others. They might be in trouble.”

“I know. And we will,” Tony replied, his voice not betraying any of the fear that Steve knew he was really feeling. “We can’t get out of here. We are also panicking. Let’s get our asses in order, have some tea, etcetera. And then we’ll bust out of this hellhole. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Steve accepted weakly, recognizing that Tony had a point, despite the undercurrent of urgency that was making his leg bounce restlessly and his hands tremble where they were fisted on top of the kitchen island. They needed to take stock of their situation. If the shield and all of the tech Tony had in his suit hadn’t worked, then they were going to have to figure out another escape route. The team might not be in trouble at all. Nat had told them not to come, from what Steve was able to decipher in the short burst of her voice he was able to make out through the static.

“Steve,” Tony called, softly. Steve looked up at him, catching the uncertainty and the concern that was written all over Tony’s face as clear as day just for a moment. “We’re going to get out of here. I promise.”

And Steve couldn’t bring himself to argue with him on that.


	3. Chapter 3

They barely acknowledged one another that first week. Tony spent most of his time taking apart his armour, Steve’s comm device, their phones, the wireless radio, and the TV, attempting to build and modify the communications devices that they had available to them so they could get in contact with the rest of the team or SHIELD. Although this task did not take an entire week to accomplish, and Tony suspected that Steve knew that too, it proved to be a helpful excuse.

However, none of his attempts at communicating with anyone outside of the cabin managed to work. He’d tried to pair his tech with the wireless and the antennae of the TV to see if he could reach one of SI’s satellites as a last resort which had ended in a grand failure as well.

The wireless was useless before Tony had taken apart, only receiving two FM stations, one of them playing a continuous stream of Christmas music, and he’d caught three seconds of sports commentary on the other station before Tony had turned it off with a huff. The TV posed a similarly frustrating dilemma, displaying a sea of static that had made Tony’s teeth grind. When they’d connected it to the DVD player, however, it had worked just fine, the familiar 20th Century Fox logo showing up on the screen with the fanfare procession in the background.

Tony had known when he’d sat down at the kitchen island that first evening, claiming it for his makeshift workspace, that he wouldn’t be able to build their escape out of this hellhole. He’d tried anyway, because the thought of sitting idly while they waited for the team to find them — if they were even still alive — rankled.

As long as he was working, Tony could put aside the thought that they too would soon join the ranks of the previous missing SHIELD agents, except they had meant to be the last resort and he wasn’t sure there was anyone else SHIELD could send after them. If they even would. 

Whatever had ensnared them here was beyond any of their understanding. Tony wasn’t sure if he’d go as far as saying that there was magic behind it, but he knew for certain that there was something beyond just the extraterrestrial at work here.

Tony noticed that Steve was getting increasingly agitated as the days went on and nothing came of Tony’s efforts. Steve hated being useless when they were thrown in the midst of fucked up situations as they so often were, and while he usually was the most useful person around, from the obvious superhuman strength to the critically acclaimed tactical genius that Tony himself had benefited from on many an occasion, this situation required either of Steve’s widely practiced talents.

Even when they’d been together, Steve had actively despised any circumstance where he couldn’t do anything to help. Tony knew that it was because of Steve’s childhood that had been largely spent watching his mother take back to back shifts at the TB ward to keep him alive and then watching helplessly as she’d succumbed to the belligerent illness herself, all while Steve had still been unable to make a living for himself.

Steve had been a tough nut to crack, and that statement was rather an understatement, but after the multiple run-ins at ungodly hours of the night in the team common room that had eventually become actual dates during the day, they’d shared the sort of trauma that was both typical baggage that came with being alive as well as the not so usual trauma that they eventually learned to shoulder together. When they’d said to find someone with shared life experiences, the two of them had gone above and beyond that.

And so, Tony worried and Steve grumbled and stomped throughout the cabin as he tried (and failed) to find a trap door exit or a latch on the windows that they’d missed the first two hundred and fifty times.

On the third day, Tony beckoned Steve over to the kitchen island and gave him a small task to do. It was just prying apart various plates on his armour that he hadn’t quite managed to do with his tiny screwdriver, but the grateful look Steve had sent him as he’d sat down across from him had been everything. And also nothing at all, because Tony was more than aware of the towering pile of issues with a capital ‘I’ that they were both sitting on.

On the sixth day, Tony was heading into the bedroom to sleep, because Steve, being the big self-sacrificing idiot that he was, had insisted upon sleeping on the couch that at least a quarter of his body hung off of, for the duration of their stay. Tony aggressively hoped for the sake of SHIELD’s chiropractors that they would get out of here before the damage done to Steve’s back became too much for even the supersoldier serum to fix.

He bade goodnight to Steve around a jaw-cracking yawn on his way to the bedroom, but paused at the door when he caught Steve staring at the toaster out of the corner of his eye.

“Has the toaster personally slighted you somehow, Cap?”

Steve looked up at him, his brows furrowed in a frown that was more confused than exasperated. “It looks like we haven’t touched this since we arrived.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to be confused. “Wait, what? We’ve been using that thing for like ninety percent of our meals because you said we shouldn’t trust any of the food in the fridge.”

“Exactly. But it’s covered in a layer of dust that I definitely remember wiping down this morning and the morning before.” Steve said, pointing to the aforementioned coating of grime that made the toaster look like it had been pulled out of someone’s dead grandmother’s attic.

Tony reached forward and swiped a finger through the dust, bringing it up close to his face and grimacing at the grey mess on his fingertip. His eyes fell on the countertop that he’d wiped down earlier in the day after he’d put his second plate of buttered toast of the day on top of it and noticed the perfect circle that it had left behind on the dusty surface when he’d gone to retrieve it. Unlike the toaster, it was cleaner than what Tony assumed a baby’s butt would be and just as smooth.

“Fuck,” he cursed, striding over to the fridge and yanking the door open. He only faintly registered Steve trailing behind him anxiously, knowing better than to question him when he got like this.

As Tony had expected, the contents within the fridge were untouched. Including the carton of orange juice that he’d drank straight from behind Steve’s back when he’d begun to crave coffee the day before and the only thing closest to it that wasn’t water was the orange juice. Peering closely at it now, squinting his eyes until he could barely see, he noticed that the bright blue seal around the Sunny D was coiled around the lid, unbroken as it had been when they’d first arrived.

“What? Why are you looking at the orange juice like that?” Steve questioned a little frantically, holding the fridge door open so that it wouldn’t close on Tony.

Tony ran a trembling hand through his hair, his eyes going wild as he came to the only conclusion that presented itself. He turned to Steve, who looked as frazzled as he was as they both stood there barely noticing the cool air that was emanating from the open refrigerator in waves.

“I think we’re in a time loop.”

That realization had placed yet another significantly large roadblock in front of their attempts at getting out of what Tony had figured was an elaborate time prison. It also brought into existence several questions that neither of them could even begin to answer. For one, where were the other SHIELD agents being kept if the two of them had been trapped in this cabin? There hadn’t been any other source of shelter within a fifty-mile radius of the cabin, and that was assuming that any other shelter wouldn’t have been magically shielded from any of their radars.

It took them a while to get used to the idea of what living the same day over and over again would entail. Every morning, the fridge would be restocked, regardless of what they’d consumed the day before. The cabin itself would undergo a daily reset. The coating of dust that every surface seemed to adorn when they’d first arrive would settle onto the counters, the little kitchen island, the TV, the toaster.

Their bodies also seemed to reset every morning like clockwork. Steve had accidentally cut his finger on day eleven when he’d been slicing cheese for his sandwich. Tony had insisted that he wrap it up despite Steve’s dismissal that the serum would take care of it. It had vanished the next morning, which they’d both been expecting, but not even a sliver of a scar had remained to show that it had healed. It was when Tony slipped in the bathroom, spraining his ankle, and the next morning with it having healed completely with no sign that he’d injured it at all, that they’d realized the daily reset also applied to them.

Tony kept working, despite knowing that nothing would come of it. He suspected that Steve also knew that, but he humoured Tony anyway, either because he knew that Tony would literally go insane if he did nothing or because he still hoped that Tony would figure it out somehow. He’d gotten out of a cave in the middle of the Afghan desert with only a box of scraps after all. Unfortunately, Tony knew better than anyone else that a bunch of terrorists with boxes of his own tech was definitely not the same as an extraterrestrial anomaly that had shoved them into this time trap seemingly without any intent to harm them physically.

They’d noticed that on day 13. Tony’s meds were already in the medicine cabinet, and Steve’s emergency inhaler was there too despite the fact that he hadn’t had to use it since he’d come out of the ice. Razors, shaving cream, body wash, shampoo, toothpaste, a blue toothbrush and a red one, both sitting in the same translucent cup. The nightstand had lube and condoms, which they’d both wordlessly decided to ignore. Cleaning supplies under the sink, a first aid kit. Fire extinguisher.

All of it was proof enough that someone had prepared for the two of them specifically to be trapped in here. During one of his more delirious existential dread ignoring tinkering sessions where he’d relegated the bed to Steve for the night, Tony had found himself giggling at the thought of some alien playing matchmaker as the thought of Steve sleeping in the room with the condoms and lube popped into his mind unprompted.

Tony knew they weren’t being watched the traditional way or through any sort of tech. They hadn’t found any bugs during their initial panic-induced survey of the cabin and even afterward when they’d come to terms with the situation. They also knew that it didn’t mean they weren’t being watched some other way. Tony was painfully aware of that as he tinkered during the day with Steve at his side playing helpful sidekick, and shivered in the large bed alone at night.

Day 22 was nice because that was when Steve had relented and allowed them access to all the food that was available to them after having painstakingly gone through every item on its own. That night, Steve left Tony to tinker at the kitchen island and cooked them dinner. Tony had stopped halfway through rewiring his helmet and watched with an ache in his heart as Steve carefully toasted the garlic bread, thawed and marinated the steak, and prepared the ingredients for a salad. He was humming a song that Tony had heard him sing to himself hundreds of times when he’d shower after coming home from his morning run and kissing Tony good morning or when he was sitting on the worn couch they’d dragged down to Tony’s workshop, sketching in the leather-bound sketchbook Tony had got him for his birthday.

It was so overwhelming that Tony found himself pushing the wooden stool back and clambering out of it, his feet moving towards Steve of their own accord. He opened his mouth, but nothing happened. Steve, taking pity on him, had pushed a bowl of tiny cherry tomatoes into his hands.

“Cut those in halves, please,” he instructed, before turning back to his steak. Tony spent the next twenty minutes very carefully slicing the tomatoes in half, trying not to slice his own finger open in the process.

They sat down to dinner together as they had done so many times before, Steve gently setting aside the various bits and pieces that had been the result of Tony’s tinkering to set the table.

When Tony had looked up at Steve halfway through their meal and caught his questioning gaze, he unfortunately became very certain of one fact despite the overall uncertainty of their rather unfortunate situation.

He was most definitely not over Steve Rogers.

Making dinner together became a thing for them after day twenty-two, and Tony found himself enjoying making dinner with Steve more than the eating part, which had both surprised and alarmed him. Steve also started making him breakfast because he somehow couldn’t break the habit of waking up at ungodly hours of the morning even though he was stuck in a time loop and time itself was a concept that was very quickly eluding Tony’s grasp.

Tony couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy Steve’s breakfasts, especially when he got to eat them in bed while Steve eventually started sitting next to him, his back against the headboard and his nose buried in a book. They still didn’t talk much, but the awkwardness that had lingered even after their talk a few months earlier had seemed to dissipate, a development that relieved Tony immensely.

Steve had quickly become one of his best friends even before they had started dating, and during the course of their relationship, they’d always been friends first. Tony had never felt more comfortable with another person that he was also in love with. He’d learned that Steve was so much more than what the history books and Howard and taught him. Steve had the most nihilistic sense of humour that Tony assumed came with living through the Depression and cried during Disney movies and waved his fist angrily during baseball games when Tony had no clue what was going on and was horny to a fault. They laughed more often than fought, despite what everyone else including various sources of distrustful media saw.

Tony would never admit it, but he’d fucking missed Steve. All that time he’d been on the run after the fight at the airport in Berlin, Tony hadn’t been able to stop worrying about him. He’d made damn sure that Ross wouldn’t get a hold of them despite knowing well enough that with Nat and Sam on Steve’s side, there wasn’t much else for Tony’s assistance to accomplish.

Other than being constantly worried for Steve’s life, Tony had missed his best friend.

One day, he’d come back to the Tower which didn’t feel like home anymore, after several meetings and a predictably frustrating and terse phone call with Ross, and he had completely forgotten that Steve was gone. Tony had collapsed under the grief and feeling of loss for the one source of constant happiness in his life that he should’ve done more to protect, and it had taken a very long Skype call with an ever so patient Pepper to abate the pain for a while.

Selfishly, Tony wanted to keep Steve all to himself. At his lowest points, he hoped they would be stuck in the cabin for longer, even though they were barely speaking to one another.

On day 37, Steve had found Interstellar in the stack of DVDs that had been pushed into the TV shelf.

“This was the movie you and Bruce decided to write a paper on the night after we got back from seeing it in the theatre, right?” Steve asked him, holding the DVD case up so Tony could see when he looked up from the wireless radio that he was in the process of reworking so they could receive signals.

Tony squinted at the cover, his eyes widening at the sight of Matthew McConaughey ensconced in a white spacesuit with the backdrop of a purple-ish galaxy.

“Shit, yeah! I’d forgotten about that,” Tony exclaimed, pushing his stool back and hopping off so he could go over and take a closer look at the pile of DVD cases scattered all over the rug in front of the fireplace. “You told me that if I didn’t get my ass to bed you wouldn’t hesitate to leave me on Earth when we end up leaving.”

Steve chuckled at the memory, looking up from the case with one of those half smiles that Tony had nearly decided to science because they would consistently make his stomach swoop up into his chest in a way that was very much not a normal bodily sensation. This time was no different.

“If I remember correctly, it got your ass to bed, didn’t it?” Steve replied, his twitching lips teasing a larger smile.

“It got my ass to do things that were not sleeping in bed, yes,” Tony said, his heart pounding as he went over that sentence in his head and cursing himself when he confirmed with himself that yes, that was definitely flirting and therefore off-limits.

Steve didn’t seem to mind, or if he did he didn’t show it. His grin grew wider and he popped open the DVD case, releasing the DVD from its plastic confines and scooching forward on the rug to slip it into the DVD player.

“How about a movie night? You’re not busy are you?” He asked Tony, a familiar playful twinkle in his eye that thrilled Tony when he saw it.

“Well, I’ve got sitting around and trying not to think about impending doom on my to-do list, but I think I can move some things around to watch Matthew McConaughey’s cute butt floating around in a black hole,” Tony said with a grin of his own, lifting up to relocate his ass to the plush loveseat behind him.

Steve huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he gently nudged the tray back in and sat back on his haunches, fiddling with the TV remote in his hold.

“Your only age appropriate celebrity crush,” Steve teased, squinting at the tiny rubber buttons.

“I resent that. I’ll have you know that my taste in men is very refined.” Tony scoffed, scooting back into the cushions and pulling the Afghan blanket hanging over the back of the couch onto his lap.

Steve looked up from his fumbling with the remote with a familiar crooked half-smile that Tony definitely did not look at. Instead, he fixed his eyes on Steve’s perfect, almost Grecian in form nose, and willed away the flush that was steadily rising up his neck.

“If by refined you mean senior citizens, then yes, your taste in men is indeed very refined,” Steve said with a wide grin, finally managing to press play and lifting up to join Tony on the couch. Tony obediently lifted one corner of the blanket so Steve could slide inside, his eyes fixed on the screen as the main menu popped up with the familiar opening of Hans Zimmer’s extraordinary soundtrack.

“So you’re freely claiming senior citizen status now?” Tony asked jokingly, grabbing the remote from Steve and pressing play again, settling deeper into the couch and trying his best to ignore the heat radiating from Steve’s body which was merely inches next to his own.

“Oh, you didn’t know? I use my senior discount at the movies. Buck says I’m taking advantage of the system, but what’s ten bucks gonna cost a giant corporation I couldn’t give less of a shit about?” Steve replied, wiggling his toes where they stuck out of the blanket along with most of his legs past his knees.

Tony turned so quickly, he felt a twinge in the side of his neck. “You’re shitting me. No, you’re not. Oh my God, Steve Rogers gets senior discounts! What the fuck?” Tony guffawed, peering at Steve’s twitching lips that betrayed his own grin.

“Don’t worry. Pretty soon, you can too.”

Tony shot him a surprised look, not realizing how much he’d missed the casual back and forth banter that had made up most of his conversations with Steve before everything had gone wrong. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” he muttered, hoping that the fondness he was feeling wouldn’t leak into his words.

Three days later, Steve had discovered the combination lock on steroids underneath the nightstand.

It was built into the floor, ten rotating dials with different letters of the alphabet on their faces. Another series of dials formed a second row just underneath the first, identical except instead of letters, they had numbers from zero to nine on each face. There were five rows in total, the dials of each alternating between letters and numbers and completely hidden from view by the bulk of the nightstand.

“Do you think—?” Steve asked hopefully, already crouched by the complicated device, his fingers hovering over the dials but looking over his shoulder for Tony’s okay.

Tony quickly tampered down the warring feelings of apprehension and dull hope that rose up within up all at once, fixing his attention to the literal puzzle before them.

“I have no idea. Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t going to serve any purpose though,” Tony mused out loud, joining Steve on the ground and reaching out to touch the steel dials that were each about the size of his own hand. The dials stuck out of the ground like the floor underneath the nightstand itself was some sort of elaborate combination lock. Tony wasn’t sure how the nightstand had been placed over it all without sliding off the uneven surface.

Their answer lay underneath the nightstand, which Steve had upturned after apparently having a similar thought. The bottom of it had deep grooves carved into the wood, perfectly allowing the dials to slot within them.

“So, I have some thoughts about the….thingy in the floor,” Tony said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes later that evening as they sat together at the half-cleared kitchen island, his hand that wasn’t currently maneuvering a fork gesticulating wildly in the air.

Steve grimaced as bits of potato went careening out of Tony’s mouth as he spoke. “Let’s hear it then.”

“My first thought was that this can’t be as easy as solving a weird puzzle in the floor. Whoever, or whatever is keeping us here doesn’t seem to be interested in letting us out that quickly.”

Steve frowned, his fork stalling midway to his mouth. “But you said there could be hundreds of thousands of combinations. It could take us months to figure it out.”

“Yes, but it could also take us days. Minutes, if I can come up with a suitable algorithm, or even less if we end up figuring it out by chance,” Tony explained. “Point is, it’s a game of luck. Also math and statistics. It just doesn’t seem in character with whatever fuck is keeping us here.”

“So what are you saying? It’s a trick of some sort?” Steve asked, his forehead crinkling in that way it did whenever he was confused about something and was annoyed about it. Tony swallowed and looked down at his food to avoid reaching over the table and smoothing out the wrinkled skin.

“I don’t know, Steve. It just doesn’t seem like it would be that easy to me.”

Steve nodded slowly, looking away from Tony. His fork hung limply in his fingers, as he frowned at the front door which remained as stubbornly shut as it had been on day one.

Tony chewed his lip as he watched Steve, feeling a familiar inkling of worry as the silence between them grew more pronounced. He was well aware that Steve was a pro at compartmentalization, at times even more skilled at it than Tony himself. Steve’s compartmentalization was a benefit during missions when he would shut off the part of his brain that worried after a particularly explosive fight they’d had or a recent hit from Tony’s search parameters that had recently located Bucky back when they’d been searching for him. But now, after over a month stuck here with neither of them having even a hunch of an idea as to how they were going to get out of here, Tony was getting worried.

“We’re still going to try. I don’t care if it’s some sick extraterrestrial joke or if it’ll lead us somewhere worse than this, but we need to try,” Steve said, his jaw set stubbornly as he stared at the door. He looked at Tony then, that familiar steadfast determination carried in his eyes that Tony himself relied on so often.

“I’m going to do whatever I can to get us out of here,” Tony assured him with a firm nod, reaching across the table to place his hand over Steve’s.

“So will I.”

* * *

They threw a stupid party on day 69 because Tony figured he owed it to the team to uphold his title as the biggest man-child of the Avengers and Steve was a huge troll. The only attendees had been the two of them, donning dusty party hats that Steve had scrounged up out of a box in the linen closet and looked hilariously tiny sitting precariously on top of Steve’s head, and the tiny helper bot that Tony had built to help them solve the floor puzzle which they had acquired no more success on than the day they had discovered it.

“Hey mister, cognac is for adult people, not robot babies,” Tony said, gently nudging Buster away from the bottle of cognac that sat on the coffee table in between their bowls of chilli from the can. “Steve, get Buster some apple juice please.”

“On it,” Steve replied from the kitchen where he had gone to grate more cheese for their chilli.

They’d ended up falling asleep huddled together on the couch after watching The Empire Strikes Back and laughing about how Peter had called it “that really old movie” and that one time Tony had treated a very horrified but also pleasantly surprised Steve to the infamous golden bikini outfit adorned by Princess Leia on his second birthday that they’d spent together as a couple.

The week after that was hopeful, with Tony and Steve working on the puzzle with renewed effort, Buster loyally assisting them whenever he was required. They worked in shifts, one wordlessly getting up to make them lunch or coffee. Most often it was Steve who got up first, turning on the wireless radio to the classic rock station that Tony had managed to reach, and chopping up fruit to make one smoothie or another. Usually kale, because he knew it was Tony’s favourite.

And even though they were nearing the 100 day mark, Tony was feeling hopeful. He often caught Steve looking at him when he thought Tony wasn’t paying attention, and he noticed that Steve had taken to sketching again. Some days, Tony could close his eyes and listen to the soft scritching of Steve’s pencil against his legal pad and Buster whirring as he wheeled to and forth on the bedroom floor, and pretend he was back home. It was a fleeting fantasy, one that just made him feel even more depleted than before he’d conjured it, but he couldn’t help himself from desperately clinging to the familiarness that had bred from the disaster.

It was on the 134th day 134, exactly one day more than the number of days Tony had spent in the cave before he’d gotten out, when everything started to go wrong.

It started with the discovery that his algorithm was a bust. He’d redone the math early in the morning after a discrepancy had kept him up in the night. The algorithm that he had been so hell-bent on for the past three months had led them to nothing. They’d essentially wasted weeks trying to apply it to solve the puzzle.

Buster ventured too close to the fireplace the next day, and he wasn’t replaced the day after during the cabin’s daily reset.

Tony should’ve found a way out by now. He’d gotten out of a cave in the middle of the Afghan desert with a box of scraps and a car battery hooked up to his heart, but somehow he couldn’t solve a fucking puzzle in order to get him and Steve out of this cabin.

He’d failed them all. Steve. The team. The SHIELD agents who’d gone missing before them. He was a fucking failure.

Tony slept through day 142 and 143. Then 144 and 145 as well. His body reset itself with the coming of each dawn. He felt no hunger or thirst. His muscles didn’t become sore and atrophied. His bladder never prodded him awake with the need to empty. Tony felt everything and also nothing at once.

He blinked his eyes open on day 156, dully watching the window that wouldn’t open and the wall of stacked logs that wouldn’t give. He heard the sounds of Steve rattling about in the kitchen, a muffled curse as something vaguely metallic sounding clattered to the floor.

“Tony? I made breakfast,” Steve said, the bed dipping behind Tony as Steve climbed onto it. He could smell the coffee and Tony knew that Steve would’ve made it exactly how he liked it in the morning - black with two spoonfuls of sugar - and the thought made his eyes burn under his eyelids.

It was day 160 and the coffee that Steve had made him rested untouched on the nightstand near Tony’s side of the bed.

Tony resumed his staring contest with the wall, both unfettered fear and rage waging a war against each other that resulted in the ceasefire of synapses in his brain. The feelings were so much — so much that Tony found himself feeling numb at the end of it all.

During the day, he heard Steve working at the puzzle in the floor next to the bed, the soft clicking as he turned the dials and the scratch of his pencil against the sheets of paper as Steve recorded each combination he tried. There must’ve been thousands of them written down already.

As the sun started dipping below the horizon and the bedroom turned dark, Steve would turn on the lamp on Tony’s nightstand, pause at the doorway, and then head into the kitchen where he would make dinner for two. He would come back with Tony’s plate which would be left untouched as the coffee but thankfully removed before Steve went to bed.

Steve ate in the kitchen by himself and went to sleep on the couch. Tony sometimes heard his choked sobs, the silence not heavy enough to muffle his grief.

Day 163, and the coffee was taken away.

Day 168, Steve didn’t come into the bedroom to work on the puzzle.

Day 170, Steve’s right wrist was tightly bandaged as he came round to drop off Tony's breakfast in the morning.

Tony desperately wished he could make his brain stop counting the days.

* * *

He smelled the bacon before the pancakes.

(It was day 174.)

Tony’s stomach ached with hunger for the first time in weeks.

Steve dropped the bowl containing the remnants of the pancake batter onto the floor when Tony walked in, tugging his blanket over his shoulders as he peered into the frying pan curiously.

He looked up at Steve, mouth twisted in an apology he couldn’t quite convey with his words. Tony saw the rising hope behind Steve’s unbelieving stare.

Steve surged forward, not realizing or more likely, not caring that he’d just stepped into the puddle of pancake batter as he gathered Tony up into his arms, his shaky breath coming out in gasps as he buried his face into Tony’s neck.

“Don’t do that to me again,” he whispered desperately, clutching at Tony’s shoulders like he was an apparition only seconds away from disappearing. Which, come to think of it, was probably what Steve thought when he’d first laid eyes on Tony in the kitchen on day 174.

“I won’t. I’m sorry,” Tony whispered back, bringing his arms up around Steve’s back and holding him close. The blanket slipped off his shoulders as they both crumbled to the ground, unwilling to let go of the other.

Their breakfast somehow survived. Steve and Tony ate in the kitchen.

* * *

Tony began to take days off. He never stayed in bed, although he often had to fight the urge to, he would spend the day messing around with the food or building Buster 2.0, which Steve had helpfully named Arthur after they’d gone through the three seasons of the cartoon that had been included in the stack of DVDs together.

The other days, he would sit cross-legged next to Steve on the floor, writing down failed combination after failed combination or turning the dials himself while Steve had the list.

It’s more bearable that way, and Tony doesn’t find himself thinking about what came before.

Steve read to him sometimes, Tony curled up at one end of the couch and Steve tucked into the opposite corner. Their socked feet would meet and tangle in the middle underneath the blanket and Tony would leech onto the warmth that Steve’s body and voice provided.

Steve read The Hobbit to him on the evening of day 197. Tony’s eyes weighed heavy with exhaustion, but he still watched Steve as he did each hobbit’s voice differently and chuckled to himself when something particularly funny happened.

“‘But all night he dreamt of his own house and wandered in his sleep into all his different rooms looking for something that he could not find nor remember what it looked like.’”

Steve looked up from the book, his eyes finding Tony’s.

“I can’t remember what they look like,” Steve admitted to him in a hushed whisper. “I mean, I do. But it’s like—”

“Everytime you think about them, you seem to forget more?” Tony suggested, his own voice gentle as he leaned forward into Steve’s space.

Steve nodded, looking away from Tony as if he was embarrassed. “It wasn’t really like that with Bucky. When I went into the ice, I’d only lost him the day before. And when I woke up here….there were photographs and those reels from the war. Then we found him so soon.”

“It reminds me of when I lost my Ma,” Steve said, an errant muscle in his jaw jumping as he turned back to look at Tony. “I lost her for the first time when she passed and the second time when I forgot what she looked like. I got this family when I woke up in the future and— I can’t lose them too.”

“We haven’t lost them yet, Steve,” Tony reassured him, though his words sounded hollow even to himself. “We don’t know what happened to them. Hell, maybe they’re half out of their minds looking for us.”

“Doesn’t that make it all the more terrifying?” Steve asked, his fingers gripping the book in his grasp so tightly that Tony was afraid he’d rip it apart without even trying.

“It is fucking terrifying, Steve. I’m scared like I’ve never been before. But what can we do?” Tony said, the desperation that he’d been trying to avoid for Steve’s sake bleeding out into his voice. “We can sit here and work on that fucking puzzle. That’s all we can do.”

Steve looked at him for a moment, his expression puzzling. “Then we’ll do that. Together.”

Tony huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, because that worked out so well for us the last two times.”

“Well, we’re alive aren’t we?”

Tony snorted, tiredly glancing up at Steve’s earnest expression. “Sure, Steve. I guess we are.”

Steve got up first, placing The Hobbit onto the low coffee table and picking up their empty mugs of coffee. By their usual routine, Tony would get up as well, shuffling to the bathroom to take his turn with the shower and to brush his teeth before bidding Steve goodnight and head inside to the bedroom.

Today, Tony stayed. He watched Steve rinse and dry their mugs, turn off the kitchen lights. Steve walked back to the couch with a confused frown to see Tony still sitting on the couch where he’d left him.

Tony held out his hand, palm facing the ceiling and Steve’s grew wide in realization. He didn’t hesitate in moving forward and placing his hand in Tony’s, pulling him up and off the couch. Steve didn’t let go of his hand as they made it into the bedroom, only letting him go to slip underneath the covers and into bed in the empty space next to Tony’s side.

When Tony turned onto his side after a few minutes of them both lying on their backs and staring up at the ceiling, each with a thousand thoughts and assumptions racing through his mind, Steve looked at him with something akin to awe shining through his eyes.

It was almost overwhelming, to see all of that laid so bare for Tony to see. To see Steve be so vulnerable with him after months of boasting an emotional buffer between them.

Tony swallowed past the lump that had quickly formed in his throat. Once, twice, and then once again when his chin began to tremble. He shuffled toward Steve, his eyes never leaving Tony’s, and lifted his head to rest it on Steve’s chest, just like he’d done so many nights before. Tony felt more than heard Steve’s breath hitch as he went stiff under him. It was only a moment though, before Steve so very gently brought his arm up around Tony, holding him close.

Sleep came to them both that night without the extensive hours long fanfare that Tony usually fell victim to.

* * *

On day 229, Tony woke up before Steve. The bedroom was still dark, the bright blue of the sky right outside of the window the only sign of the fast approaching dawn.

Steve’s chest was pressed up against Tony’s back, his resting body a solid line of pure warmth behind him. He turned around, carefully repositioning himself in Steve’s arms so that he wouldn’t wake him. Tony’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of Steve’s pink lips, parted in sleep and with his breath passing through them in quiet huffs. His hair looked darker like this, in the barely there light of the early hours. It didn’t look ethereal or shine golden or frame his face like a fucking Botticelli. The ends which had been damp from the lengthy shower they’d shared the night before had dried sometime during the night to flop over Steve’s forehead.

He didn’t look like the perfectly moulded specimen of a man that adorned the blue uniform and was adored by millions around the world. He definitely didn’t look like the guy in Tony’s poster that he’d stuck to the wall across from his bed so Captain America’s cheesy smile would be the last thing he’d see before he closed his eyes.

If they weren’t already stuck re-living the same 24 hours over and over again, Tony would wish that he could stop time at this very moment even though they’d had dozens just like it.

When Tony finally managed to drag his ass out of bed, he made sure to leave behind a note for Steve. While he was writing it, he desperately tried not to think about that morning a couple of weeks ago (day 214) when Tony had slept in and Steve had woken up in an empty bed and the way he’d shook in Tony’s arms as he cried brokenly, pleading with him to not go away again.

Tony hadn’t had to think about what he’d meant in order to figure it out.

When Steve made his way into the kitchen, the note folded into a tiny square and pressed tightly to the inside of his fist, there were two plates of extremely lopsided pancakes on the island and Tony already seated on one of the stools.

* * *

Day 278 was the day that Tony had unearthed the pile of dusty board games that had been hidden under a floorboard under the rug in the living room.

They’d played a couple of rounds of chess before they quickly realized that Steve would (very happily) lose every single one to Tony. Monopoly had come next, but it turned out that Tony hated losing and upset the board when he lost the first game. It was difficult to play with just the two of them, and it made the absence of their usual players more glaring. Steve had instituted the rule that they would auction off properties at random in order to have the game progress much faster after they’d spent hours on the second round.

Tony won that round but he’s half convinced that Steve let him win.

They didn’t end up returning to the floor puzzle for days, preoccupied with each other or the various things they found around the little cabin. Tony came to discover that he didn’t care.

They’d watched Wall-E on day 311 because neither of them had seen it before but Steve had put it on their watchlist right before the Accords had happened. Steve cried, which was entirely unsurprising. If Tony found himself to be a little misty-eyed over the animated movie, he was blaming Pixar and their insurmountable ability to evoke emotion.

They passed the 365 day mark, though neither of them acknowledged it verbally. They spent the day lounging in bed after Steve had generously woken Tony up with his mouth around his cock.

It was on day 401 that the front door opened.

At first, neither of them had noticed. They were on the ground in front of the roaring fireplace, entranced in a rousing game of bridge after discovering that it was the only card game that they both agreed on the rules - Steve having played it countless times with the other soldiers during the war and Tony having learnt it from none other than Peggy and Jarvis.

Then someone had called out Tony’s name and he’d dropped the entire pile of cards in his hands.

“What the fuck,” he said, meeting Steve’s eyes as whoever was at the front door pushed their way inside.

“We came as soon as we could. It took us hours to get out of the town and then—”

Natasha was saying more things and Tony was hearing them, but he couldn’t seem to understand.

“I’m sorry, could we go back to the part where you said it took you a week to locate us?” Tony interrupted, his brain nearly short-circuiting at the team’s identical bewildered expressions.

“Yes, Tony, it took us three hours to find our way out of the town and then we went back to the Tower after seeing no signs of you or Steve,” Bruce explained, looking them over with a critical eye. “We were planning on contacting Strange or Richards but—” He trailed off and looked to the side, apparently noticing the dirty dishes in the sink for the first time. “You two have been here for way longer than a week.”

“Over a year,” Steve said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The silence that followed was almost too much for Tony to handle.

He got up a little too abruptly, swaying in place as the blood rushed from his head. Steve rushed to help with a steady hand to his elbow. Tony smiled at him in thanks, an easy gesture that he didn’t even have to think about. He didn’t realize what it might’ve looked like to the team until he caught the look Natasha and Sam shared - worried and more than a little confused.

“Let’s get you two home. We’ll explain on the way,” Sam said, reaching forward to clasp Steve’s shoulder. Steve stood stock still for a moment too long before he followed, his hand locked onto Tony’s elbow pulling him along.

Tony’s mind was reeling so fast he wasn’t sure there was any fish to catch. A part of him wanted to yell at them to stop, to leave him and Steve alone. As soon as the thought entered his mind, Tony started to walk a little faster, scared to think about what that might’ve meant.

This was good. They were getting out of here. He could open the front door and leave like anyone else.

They were shuffled into the waiting QuinJet which already had other people that Tony didn’t recognize huddled inside. Only after he was gently pushed onto a bench next to Steve with a blanket thrown over his shoulders did he realize that they were the SHIELD agents that had gone missing before. Steve seemed to arrive at the same conclusion judging by the way his gaze kept returning to the small group as his leg bounced in a familiar nervous tic.

Tony wanted someone to tell him what the fuck was going on, but the events quickly drained him. He ended up falling asleep on Steve’s shoulder as the QuinJet took off, awakening to Steve’s fingers carding through his hair as he softly murmured that they were home.

Home, huh? What a concept.

* * *

Much later, they’d been allowed to disband and retire to their rooms for the night after thorough physical examinations and therapy had been repeatedly recommended to them both.

It was nearly three in the morning and Tony found himself in the kitchen, staring at the stainless steel refrigerator with a sort of disappointment. It wasn’t their fridge.

This kitchen didn’t have a proper island and everything was made of metal. Tony wondered why he’d liked the gleaming steel and pristine marble countertops so much. It was all so blinding.

He wasn’t surprised at all when he heard the sound of soft footfalls and Steve soon appeared looking just as exhausted and ragged as Tony figured he must look like.

“You too?” Tony asked, pulling out the chair next to him and waving Steve over. Steve shuffled over and slumped down into the chair as soon as he reached it. He leant forward and buried his face into his arms on the table.

“I didn’t even try,” he replied, his voice muffled as he spoke to the table rather than Tony. “I was cold.” He didn’t elaborate but Tony still understood all the things that meant. The bed was too empty, too wide. The alarm clock wasn’t right, there was no fire. Tony didn’t want to think about trying to fall asleep alone.

“Hey, you eat anything? They forgot to feed us,” Tony said, pushing his chair back and getting up from the table, running his hands through Steve’s hair out of habit as he goes. Steve went stiff underneath him and Tony jerked his hand away like he’d touched a flame. Steve’s head shot up, his bleary eyes tinged with a hint of desperation as he turned to look at Tony.

“No— don’t,” he reached up and grabbed Tony’s hand. “I’m just—I can’t—”

“It’s okay, Steve. Really. I’m not going anywhere, alright?” Tony sat back down, keeping his fingers buried in Steve’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “God, this is weird.”

Steve turned his head so that he was facing Tony while still slumped over the table. “Try finding out that your future self used a fucking Infinity Stone to get you back with your ex to save his life by trapping you both in a time-warping illusion.”

“Yeah, what the fuck. Lesson to you, Steve. You trying to play matchmaker equals very bad,” Tony said, laying his own head down on his arm resting on top of the table so that he was at eye level with Steve. He resumed carding his fingers through Steve’s hair.

“I would’ve done it too,” Steve spoke into the silence that followed. “If I—if I ever lost you, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I feel sorry for him.”

“You won’t lose me.” Tony shuffled closer to him on the table, enough so that their arms were touching and their faces were inches apart. “You won’t.”

They sat there until Steve’s blinks became very slow and Tony had to shake him awake. “C’mon, Cap. Let’s go to bed,” he said softly, taking Steve’s hand and leading him in the direction of Tony’s room.

And they did.


End file.
